Solace: A Doctor and Chris Dawkins Story
by thedoctorsfaithfulcompanion
Summary: Christopher Dawkins is a writer whose life is changed entirely when he meets a man in a police call box. Now, together with Amy, Rory and a girl named Liz, they must discover why aliens are preventing people from waking up... T for later chapter violence
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Box in the Garden

Christopher's fingers rapped on the table as he stared at the blank page before him. The blinking line of the line-marker mocked him with each flash. The coffee in the mug next to the keyboard had long since gone cold, only having been sipped three times. For perhaps the thousandth time, he cursed his chosen profession.

"I should have been a chef," he muttered. "There isn't such a thing as chef's block."

He stood and walked once around the table. Then twice. Then a third time. He sat back down.

"Science fiction shouldn't be this hard," he exclaimed to no one, tossing up his hands, "I could literally make-up anything!"

He stood again and this time just looked at the computer.

"You sir, are an abomination," he hissed. "You should never have been made."

He sat back down.

Christopher Dawkins was a writer. Not a prolific one, or a particularly popular one, but he made enough money to pay for a flat in the little town of Suridge and to feed himself. And to pay for the hell-beast that was his laptop.

"Fuck it," Christopher said, and put his fingers to the keyboard.

_Terrence was not all that bright,_ he wrote, _everyone agreed on that…_

"Good start," he nodded. "Okay, okay…"

Just as he was about to type the next words (_nor was he very strong_), he heard something in the back garden his loft shared with the rest of the row. A thrumming, like a guitar underwater. And then a slam that shook the building. The windchime in his window tinkled. Christopher swore. His line of thought was gone. He decided to just start over.

But first, he had to see what had ruined what had appeared to be the end of his writer's block. Grabbing his keys, he headed out his door, down the flight of stairs to the common hall and turned to go out the back door. All sane people were at work. He was the only one in the row that worked from home. He would be the only one investigating, he guessed.

Stepping over an envelope someone had dropped near the door, he went out the back and realized that his assumption was slightly untrue. There was someone else in the backyard. A girl, maybe a year or two younger than him. Short and pixie-like, with dark ringlets that she had cut short. Her clothes were clean but plain, a pair of jeans and a loose green blouse. Christopher suddenly felt very, very self conscious. He looked down at his own stained t-shirt proclaiming his allegiance to a band called Cumberbund, and his loose-fitting grey sweatpants. He was barefoot and hadn't showered, and now he was alone in his garden with a very pretty girl, looking at…

What? Looking at what? Christopher gazed upon the object that was lodged in his yard. Lodged was the right word. A great blue box was stuck a foot into his yard at a 75 degree angle.

"Police Box," the girl said.

Christopher swallowed. "Yeah," he stammered, "yeah, Police Box."

The blue box said as much, in big white letters.

"What do you think brought it here?"

Christopher took a few tentative steps forward. He placed his hand on it's side. It was warm and…it felt like it was _breathing. _"Brought it here? What makes you think it didn't just…"

"Fall from the sky?" The girl giggled and put her hand on the side as well. Christopher chuckled as well, nervously. There was something…unearthly about the box. Something…

"Alien," Christopher whispered to himself.

"Alien," the girl agreed.

Christopher walked around the box. "There's a door."

"Should we try to…"

"Open it," Christopher finished. "I write sci-fi. I know what happens after that. We get eaten by the horrible, ugly alien within."

"Yes, yes, we're going to eat you, now open the damn door!"

Christopher practically leapt in the air at the sound of the woman's voice. Scottish accent and not sounding particularly patient.

"Uh, hello," he said.

"Listen, the door is stuck from our side, just open the damn thing so we can get out."

Christopher looked at the girl, who shrugged. He cleared his throat.

"I have your word you aren't flesh-consuming monsters."

"I promise you," said a man's voice, "that none of us are flesh-consuming, and only one of us could even loosely be construed as a monster."

"I resent that, Rory," said another man's voice.

"You have two hearts."

"And no tentacles or sharp teeth or anything like that."

Christopher's head was spinning. "Uh, how many of you are there in there?"

"Just the three, but hurry up please. We're all trying to stop ourselves from slipping into the kitchen."

"Why does the kitchen need an wood-fired oven, Doctor?" The woman's voice.

"I like pizza," said one of the male voices.

Christopher looked at the girl again. "They're bloody crazy."

"Just open the door and let us out, mister," the girl's voice said from the otherside of the door. The girl on Christopher's side shrugged. Christopher shrugged back.

As he put his hand on the latch of the door, he became acutely aware that he was about to have an alien experience. His palms started sweating and his throat felt dry. _Great_, he thought, _more things to make me look like a sodding fool in front of a pretty girl_. Steeling himself, he flicked the latch and pushed the door.

Three figures leapt from inside and the door closed before Christopher got a look inside. As they stood, Christopher took a step back and got a good look at the figures.

They were all human. The girl was young, in her early twenties and undeniably beautiful, with red hair and, as his father would say, "legs that went up to _here_" She wore a blue denim skirt, brown boots and a red and white striped t-shirt. The first man had short, choppy hair and eyes that were too old for his face. He wore a checkered shirt and a padded vest, with jeans and work boots. The third man was the strangest. His hair was long and brown. He had big eyes and a grin that suggested a joke that no one else understood. He stood quite comfortably with his hands in the pockets of his navy trousers, his black boots scuffed, tweed jacket unruffled. He wore a bow tie, a fact that instantly suggested that, if only one of them was alien, it was this one.

And Christopher felt even more remarkably underdressed.

Christopher and the girl stood and stared at the three strangers from the box. There was a very long, awkwardly silent moment before any of them spoke. The man in the bow tie suddenly looked like he had remembered what to do and pulled his hand from his pocket.

"Oh, hello," he said, grinning like a mad man. "I'm the Doctor. This is Amy and Rory. Sorry about the garden. Bit of a hiccup with…well, I don't know what, actually. A dohickey went bing and then we sort of crashed."

"We hit something," said the girl (Amy, Christopher thought, unless she was Rory, which would make an odd situation odder).

"No," the bow tie man said (the Doctor? What sort of name was the Doctor). "Impossible. We were in the Vortex. Nothing to hit anymore. I think…unless…no…yes…no. Maybe, maybe we hit something."

_He is mad_, Christopher thought.

"We did," said the other man (Rory, unless he was Amy). "The screen flashed impact."

The Doctor looked thoughtful. "Maybe," he mused, before looking back at Christopher. "And what can we call you?"

"Uh," Christopher looked at the girl, who shrugged. "I'm Christopher. Christopher Dawkins."

"Nice to meet you, Christopher Dawkins," the Doctor grinned. "And who is your lady friend?"

The Doctor turned to the girl. She smiled sweetly. "Actually, we just met. I'm Liz," she turned her head to Christopher. "I'm Liz."

"Pleasure to meet you both," said the Doctor. "Now then, does anyone else smell that?"

"Smell what," said Amy (Christopher had decided to keep it simple: the red-head was Amy). "Doctor…"

"No, no," Rory said, "I smell something too. Like…"

"Roasted pork," said the Doctor.

Now that the Doctor mentioned it, Christopher could smell it too. "Someone's barbecuing."

"At," the Doctor checked his watch and suddenly looked confused. "Huh. My watch isn't showing the time."

"People's watches break all the time, Doctor," Amy said.

"Yes, but their watches aren't linked directly to the TARDIS to provide an accurate time to the picosecond."

"Oh," said Amy, "that doesn't sound good."

"No," said the Doctor, "no it does not."

Suddenly, the Doctor bolted over to the twisted trunk of the tree near the garden wall and started climbing. Everyone ran over.

"What is he doing," asked Liz. The man named Rory shrugged. Amy yelled up.

"Doctor," she yelled, "Doctor, get down here and tell us what is going on."

The Doctor grabbed a leaf from the tree and dropped down. "I'm not one-hundred percent sure, Pond," he said, "but I think the TARDIS might be asleep."

"He keeps saying TARDIS," said Christopher. "What's a TARDIS?"

"Time and Relative Dimension in Space," the Doctor said, as if that explained anything. Then he licked the leaf twice and let it drop.

For a moment, he looked contemplative, then started spitting. "Bah. That tastes awful."

"It's a leaf," said Rory, "what were you expecting?"

"No," said the Doctor, "it didn't taste leafy-bad It tasted…hmmm…"

"Doctor," said Amy. "How the leaf tastes might be the least of our worries right now."

"Why's that," asked the Doctor. Amy pointed up. They all followed her finger.

Things were falling from the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Spaceships, Manuscripts and a Cuppa Tea

There were six of them, whatever they were. They fell alarmingly quickly, the signature pop-pop-pop of the sound barrier being broken by multiple objects remarkably loud. When they were close enough, Christopher had a concept of what they might be.

"Landing pods," he said. The Doctor looked at him, a little surprised and a little impressed.

"Exactly," the Doctor said.

The devices were perhaps twenty feet tall and fifteen wide, shaped a bit like sharply-angled teardrops. They were a dull silver, all rivets and harsh steel. Their wide bottoms were made of a black metal that had heated to red with their fall. While Christopher lost sight of them as they passed beneath the edge of his vision, the lack of impact booms suggested that they had slowed their descent.

And then they were gone.

"What just happened," Liz asked.

"I think," said Rory, "I _think _that your town might have just been invaded by aliens."

"Exactly right, Rory," the Doctor grinned like a loon. "You, Christopher, Chrissy, tell me something."

"What's that?" Christopher was as confused as everyone else.

"How would you write what we should do next?"

"What," Christopher was stunned. "How did you know that I was a writer?"

"Easy," smiled the Doctor. "You have calluses along the edge of your wrists and fingertips: you type often. You're at home, in your pajamas, at what appears to be noon. And I've read your collected works. All 44 novels. You are Christopher Dawkins, correct?"

"I've written seven," Christopher said.

"So far," the Doctor winked. "So tell me. What happens next?"

"We head off to examine the landing pods."

"No we do not," said the Doctor. "We go inside. We sit down. We wait about five minutes. Because nobody, and I mean nobody, lands in that amount of style without wanting to convey a message. We're not going to them. They'll come to us."

The Doctor was already heading for the door. "Also, and this is important, so keep your ears open, there's a reason that the air smells like roasted pork and the leaves taste bad, and I do not want to go meandering off until I know exactly what that reason is."

The Doctor opened the door and walked inside. Christopher looked at everyone.

"So, um," he said, "do you want to come inside?"

Rory shrugged. "I could use a cup of tea."

"Yeah, me too," said Amy.

Liz looked relatively more frazzled. "You're not at all shocked by the fact that alien spacecraft just landed here?"

"Alien spacecraft have been landing in my backyard since I was a kid," said Amy. "Best get used to it."

They went inside. Up the stairs. Into Christopher's flat. The Doctor was already heating water on the stove.

"Lots of manuscripts lying around," said the Doctor.

"I write more than I publish," said Christopher. "Um, could you explain why we're…"

"Sitting around, drinking tea?" The Doctor danced about the kitchen/dining room, opening cupboards.

"Yeah, that," Rory, Amy and Liz sat around his modest table. Each of them looked distinctly uncomfortable in their own way.

"Well," said the Doctor. "Here's why. I know nothing about what just fell from the sky. The design, the method. All different from what I'm used to. Do you know how strange that is?"

"It's very odd," Amy answered. "HE knows more than is good for him."

"That," said the Doctor, pointing in confirmation. "Now, ordinarily, that would have me running off. But, BUT, there's a co-related problem. The air smells like pork, the leaves taste like hydrochloric acid and the TARDIS. Is. Asleep."

"You keep saying that," Amy said. "The TARDIS is asleep. How can the TARDIS be asleep?"

"Oh, parts of it are always asleep. Functions flicking on and off. Usually it only lasts less than a second," the Doctor grabbed 3 mugs, an empty jam jar and a teacup and laid them out. "But for some reason, a main function stayed asleep."

"Main function," asked Rory.

"Shielding. We were spinning through the Vortex and hit something and were knocked here. Because we didn't have a shield. Why?"

"Because your shields were…asleep," said Liz.

The Doctor pointed at her next. "That! Okay, so…"

"Wait," said Liz. "Wait. Before you go any further, before you say another word, can someone explain what the hell is going on? Who are you people? What is the box, and what the hell is a TARDIS?"

Amy looked at the Doctor. Rory looked at Amy. And the Doctor looked at Christopher.

Christopher scratched his nose. "I'll try. Okay. So. This is the Doctor. He is an alien. Rory and Amy are humans. They're…married?"

Amy nodded.

"Okay. The box and the TARDIS are the same thing. They're some form of spaceship and, if I am right, a time machine. The Vortex is…a hole? In space and time?"

"It's more of the place linking all spaces and times."

"Okay, so," Christopher continued. "These three travel through space and time. And, if I am right, the Doctor isn't a doctor-doctor or a professor-doctor. He fixes things, though."

The Doctor snapped his fingers. "Very good."

Liz looked shocked. "How did you work that out?"

"I write sci-fi," Christopher said.

"No, really," Amy said. "How?"

"He went to school to be a detective," the Doctor said.

"It's in the biography section of my books," said Christopher.

"You? You're a detective," said Rory.

"No, I write sci-fi," said Christopher. "But you'd be surprised how handy detective-skills can be when writing."

Everyone blinked, except the Doctor.

"Okay," said Christopher, "most of it was told to me. But let's say it like this. Amy and Rory aren't wearing rings, but they face each other when they sit and talk, especially Rory. They're not wearing rings because on their travels rings can get in the way. Evidently they travel a lot. From what I've seen, I have to assume they're not insane, and so they must have been telling some truth. Which means that they travel through space through this Vortex. However, the Doctor's watch is linked to the TARDIS, meaning it's time must change automatically. Why? Because they are traveling through time as well as space. The Doctor was confused when he didn't know the time. Because he is so used to knowing. Everything falls into place."

The Doctor grinned. "You are smarter than your books give you credit for."

"I have difficulty translating the process," Christopher coughed.

The kettle whistled and the Doctor sprung back into action.

"So why do you write science fiction, then?" Liz looked genuinely interested.

"Well, long story short, I decided I didn't like investigating. I tried to write a detective story but halfway through it changed into something else. Aliens and spaceships and all that. My path was set."

"Tea's ready," said the Doctor, and he set a mug or jar in front of each of them. He took the cracked teacup and saucer. Christopher gathered milk and sugar and set them out.

"I don't have honey," he said.

"We'll manage," Amy grinned.

They all sipped.

"Is it just me," Christopher said. "Or does this seem really…strange."

"What?" The Doctor was still pouring sugar into his cup.

"We're sipping tea while aliens have landed outside."

The Doctor sipped. "Let me ask you something. What is the one thing everyone in town will be doing right now?"

Christopher began to understand. "Flocking to the pods. Touching. Prodding. The police will be setting up lines."

"Crowds. Big crowds. Now, we all know what those things were. Us being there isn't going to help. And in about a minute, they'll open up and each and every person in town will be relayed a message," the Doctor set down his cup. "I'm willing to bet through telepathy or hologram. Immediately after, there will be chaos around the pods. So, what would we get from being amidst the chaos."

"Nothing," Christopher answered. "We'd be too distracted to investigate. Too much bother."

"Exactly. Instead, I'm going to do something I am not good at and wait."

They sat silent. Rory spoke after a moment. "Wait a second, we don't have to do nothing."

The Doctor turned to Rory. "Rory, those are words I love to hear."

"Let's straighten out the TARDIS. All the power is still on. Maybe we can get her flat, go inside and use her to help figure out why the air smells like pork."

The Doctor grinned wildly. "I knew I kept you around for a reason! Let's go then."

"But we just started out tea," Amy argued.

"Not now, Pond. Allons-y!"

They stood. "Allons-y?" Amy's face screamed of mocking.

"It's just a thing I used to say," the Doctor answered. "Let's go see what is ailing Sexy."

"Sexy?" Liz asked.

"The TARDIS," Rory answered.

"It's a woman," Amy explained, "sort of."

"You guys go on," Christopher said. "I'll be out in a tick."

The others stood and headed for the door. Christopher dashed to his bedroom and pulled out some more appropriately attractive clothes: a pair of jeans, his Converse, a shirt with the Star Wards logo, a blazer. Sort of thing he would wear to a meeting with his agent. He ran his fingers through his unruly black hair and rolled on some deodorant quickly. Then he jogged outside.

"You've changed your clothes," said the Doctor, who was looking intently at the impact crater around the TARDIS and didn't even glance in Christopher's direction..

Christopher shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was in my pajamas at noon."

"And you put on deodorant," the Doctor continued. "For a fight with an alien race."

"Who said anything about fighting?"

"I just did," said the Doctor, who stood quickly. "Do you have any rope?"

Christopher looked at Liz, who shrugged. "Uh, no. No I don't," answered Christopher.

"Shame, would have been easier to get the old girl straight. Alright, everybody, looks like we'll need to push."

He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Christopher walked over and looked at the box.

"It doesn't look _that _heavy."

"It's heavier than it looks," answered the Doctor. "Just don't tell her I said that. Okay, let's go."

It took a few minutes, but between the Doctor, Rory and Cristopher, they managed to get the box straight.

"Well, that worked," said the Doctor. "Now then, let's work out what…"

Suddenly the Doctor dropped to his knees and contorted his facee in pain. He rubbed his temples and gritted his teeth. Everyone lese looked at everyone else. The Doctor stood as quickly as he had dropped.

He spoke. "Here comes the message."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Priests of Solace

Then they heard it. Or saw it. Or were sent it. The message drove straight into their heads fully formed. The image of what appeared to be a man with yellow-and-red eyes in a priest's cossack, with a high neck instead of a collar. The fascia around his waste was a bright red, but the rest was black and undecorated. The man had no hair: no eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. His mouth was small and puckered, his eyes close-set and old. His face, however, was unlined.

The image did not speak, for the message was already in their heads, but they could tell that it was this man's message.

"Hello," it went. "We are the 17th Missionary Order of the Priests of Solace. Congratulations. Your planet has been selected for conversion to Solace. This village will serve as a test. Should the conversion process go smoothly, the rest of the planet will follow. Should the process not take, this planet will, unfortunately, need to be eliminated as heretics. Do not struggle. We simply wish to reveal the light of Solace. Do not fight. We have your best interests in mind. Simply sleep, and when you wake you will be one of us."

All the words and their meanings were implanted directly into their minds in a split-second. They all looked between one another. Finally, the Doctor spoke.

"Well," he said, "religious conversion. That's nice." He held open the door of the TARDIS. "Shall we?"

Amy and Rory went in. Liz and Christopher looked at one another and then followed. The Doctor took up the rear.

Christopher had been expecting…something. But not this. The place was huge and bright, all copper and gold and brass. A central control panel seemed to be comprised of odds and assorted ends. Stairs suggested further halls.

"It's bigger on the inside…" Liz said. The Doctor jigged up to the controls in glee.

"And there's the words," he said. "Alright then, welcome to the TARDIS. Controls are here, bathroom's down there, don't touch anything unless I ask you to. That's the gist of it."

"It's amazing," Christopher said.

"I know," the Doctor smiled. "Okay, so, what do we know? The TARDIS crashed after it's shielding stayed off and it hit something, knocking us out of the Vortex. The air outside smells like roasted pork, the leaves taste worse than usual. Aliens have landed in great metal pods and have sent a message preaching conversion. They are missionaries. What does this mean?"

"It's all related, obviously," said Christopher, walking up to the controls and looking at them as he circled the panel. "The aliens did something that knocked out your shields."

"But how," asked the Doctor, "they didn't know we'd be coming."

"Perhaps it was incidental," Christopher scratched his chin. Whatever is causing the porky smell and leaves knocked out your shields?"

"Perhaps, but how," the Doctor danced to a screen. Christopher followed.

"They're a right proper pair, aren't they," Amy whispered to Rory, who chuckled. Liz was investigating the hall to their right. Amy looked at her. "Bedrooms and library and God knows what else is down there, Lizzy."

"No, I was just wondering how this works. My initial idea was that the door of the box was a sort of portal linking us to a larger location. But I figure that this actually is in the box. Perhaps a pocket dimension."

They all looked at her, stunned into silence. "No one asked what I did," she smiled. "I'm working on a theoretical physics doctorate. A ship like this is being theorized by government physicists right now."

"Stolen, more like," said the Doctor. "Anyhow, think, you can help. Assume a ship traveling through a theoretical bend in space and time. This bend exists separate to the time and space itself. The ship actually dematerializes into the bend and rematerializes out of it post travel. What could knock the ships shielding off from outside the bend while the ship was in the bend?"

"Well, what if there was a technology designed to, I don't know, create a field," Liz said. "If technology exists to travel through the Vortex, others must be aware of it."

"And if they are aware," Amy understood.

"Then the field would extend into the Vortex," the Doctor finished. "Brilliant. Yes, brilliant. Okay, so the scent of pork is the scent of the field. The taste must be…fallout? Energy. Energy from it. But what does it do?"

"Maybe it's a weapon," Rory said. "Designed to knock out any ships that might attack them while they do whatever they're doing. They might not know Earth doesn't have ships like that."

"No, not a weapon," the Doctor said. "But close. They're not here for war, but for religion. It would be…what…"

"Something to quell resistance," Christopher answered.

"Exactly," said the Doctor, "but how?"

"Sleep," said Amy, her eyes going wide. "You said that the TARDIS is constantly flickering systems in and out of sleep. And the shield stayed asleep. And the message says…"

"Simply sleep," quoted the Doctor. "Yes…yes. The field over the town isn't a weapon. It's stopping things from waking up."

They all looked at one another.

"So…what," Amy said, "if something goes to sleep…"

"It stays alive," said the Doctor, "the field doesn't kill them. They just…don't wake up."

"Why, though," Christopher asked. "Why would aliens want that?"

"I don't know," said the Doctor. "I've never heard about these priests of Solace. I've never heard of Solace."

Liz bit her lip. "We need to see those ships."

"The message has had time to gestate," the Doctor agreed. "Chances are the police are trying to keep people off the streets."

"So," Rory asked, "when has that ever stopped you?"

The Doctor grinned. "Christopher," he said, "do you have a car?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Empty

"I have never, ever, been more uncomfortable in my life."

"Come along, Pond."

"No, really. I was in the Pandorica for 2000 years and this is still more cramped."

"Try pulling the Pandorica around for that long. You've got it easy."

"Try regenerating, either of you. Then, then, you can talk to me about discomfort."

"Bah."

"Really. Hold the energy of 4 nuclear bombs in you and then see how you feel as your body builds itself back up from scratch."

Liz leaned over to Christopher. "Do you have any idea what they are talking about?"

Christopher shook his head. His car was a tiny thing he had had since he could drive, and the three travelers from the box were crowded into the meant-for-two-people back seat. Amy was practically in both the Doctor's and Rory's laps, and all three had their heads at awkward angles due to the low ceiling.

"What I don't get," said the Doctor, "is why I don't get to drive."

"Should I trust him behind the wheel of my car," Christopher asked, glancing back in the rearview.

"No," Rory and Amy said in unison.

"He can barely drive his own spaceship and he's being doing that for almost nine-hundred years," Amy said.

"You listen to River too much," the Doctor pouted. "I drive fine. I drive perfectly. I'm the best driver."

"We crashed today," pointed out Rory.

"Freak anomaly. Could happen to anyone."

Christopher did his best to ignore the seemingly meaningless prattle and get his thoughts in order. _None of this is happening_, he decided, _I have hit an advanced form of writer's block, passed into a coma, and am now having a story relayed to me so as to fix this dire program. There are not three time-travellers in my backseat. Aliens have not crashed in my town. There isn't a field preventing people from waking up…_

"Question," Christopher said. "How does this field work? How can it just stop people from waking up?"

"Have you ever heard of the black note?" The Doctor twisted as much as his body would allow to get a hand out.

"No," said Christopher, although he probably had and just didn't remember.

"The black note is a theorized frequency of sound that can knock out a person," explained the Doctor. "That particular frequency rattles the ear drum in such a way that the brain simply shuts down."

"So the field is sound," asked Christopher.

"Don't be stupid," said the Doctor. "Of course it isn't."

"Then what is it?"

"Other forms of energy have frequency as well," said the Doctor. "Light, x-rays…"

"Radio waves," finished Liz.

"Exactly," the Doctor grinned. "Now, humans use almost all forms of radiation in various ways. You absorb UV rays and produce vitamin D, for example. Now, what if someone were to shift the frequency of a form of radiation that the human body uses…"

"It could hit a theoretical black note of its own," said Liz. "And it could be constant, preventing the brain from escaping an REM or sleep-state."

"Bingo," said the Doctor. "What is more, it describes the smell and the plants. Plants use radiation too, albeit in different ways. Perhaps the same wavelength of radiation is causing the plants to secrete a particular substance that makes them taste bad. Sulfur, for example, or ammonia. We smell pork not because the air actually smells like pork, but because, while we're awake, the radiation is causing our brain to think it is smelling pork. Turn right and park. There's a police line."

Christopher parked and they began pulling themselves from the vehicle. "So they've created a blanket field to prevent people from waking up. Why don't the governent just send in the military or something?"

"They don't even know what's going on," the Doctor said striding towards the yellow police tape.

"What do you mean?"

"Check your phones," the Doctor reached the tape as, simultaneously, the four others checked their phones. Not one of them had service.

"Doctor," Amy said. "I'm not getting service. This is a superphone. How am I not getting service."

"The signal, Pond," the Doctor waved a finger in the air. "It's all in the signal."

The Doctor lifted the tape, but before he could duck under, two constables dashed over.

"Oy," said the first, a fat man with thin eyebrows. "That's a police line. You can't pass."

"Yeah," said the second, equally as fat but easily two feet taller. "All civilians have been asked to return to their homes."

"Not a civilian," said the Doctor, pulling a pad from inside his pocket and revealing it's contents. "I'm Doctor Smith, Xenoscience Expert for the British Government, these are my associates Elizabeth Jones, Physicist, Amy and Rory Pond…"

"Williams," corrected Rory.

"And Christopher Dawkins, private detective," finished the Doctor. "We were in the neighbourhood…"

"You work for the government? I thought no one could get through…" The tall one scratched his nose.

"Well," said the Doctor, "like I said, we were in the neighborhood. Interesting events happen around here often?"

"Never," said Eyebrows. "But we can use all the help we can get. Follow us."

The group was allowed under the tape, as they followed the constables, Christopher set himself next to Liz.

"Professor Hallacks," he said.

"What," said Liz.

"Professor Hallacks. Flat 4. That's why you were in my garden. You're a doctorate student. Hallacks is a supervising professor for your research, isn't he? I didn't notice at first, figured you lived in my building. Then I saw your shoes. Walking shoes. Nice, but scuffed at the toe. People don't put on their business-and-errands shoes to go into the back garden. They go barefoot. So you must have already been wearing them. But why would you wear them around the house. You wouldn't. So you didn't belong. But then why would you be there. I figure that you needed to see Hallacks. Unfortunately, he wasn't in his office. You were told he was sick. I heard him coughing in the hall this morning, or I guess it was him. You went to his flat, but found he was out. Went to get lozenges, most likely, or went to the doctor. Either way, you wrote a letter, stuffed it in an envelope and shoved it under the door. I stepped over it when I went out back. Then you heard the bang and decided to investigate. You climbed the wall, hence the dirt on your elbows and hands. You left your purse on the ground near the wall."

"Oh God," she said. "I left my purse."

"Actually, you didn't. It's in the boot. This was all a drawn-out excuse to tell you I had your purse." Christopher grinned.

Liz stopped and cocked her hip. "Why?"

"I don't know," said Christopher. "With them around…it's like the detective-me is stronger than the writer-me. And with it comes the me who thinks he is sooooo clever. Which he is, but it's besides the point. There's a reason I didn't become a detective."

"Because detective you is an arrogant twat?"

"Pretty much. Also, I've convinced myself that this is all a hyper-realistic dream, so my actions pretty much don't count."

As Amy walked by, she punched him in the shoulder.

"Ouch," Christopher rubbed his arm. "What was that?"

"This isn't a dream, Mr. Christopher," she said. "You best get used to that."

They had reached the area around the crater. A dozen or so police officers milled about, unsure of what to do, while three inspectors did inspectory type stuff, but were equally unsure of what to do.

The pod itself was bigger than first estimated: perhaps thirty feet tall at it's apex, and twenty feet wide at it's base. There were no visible thrusters, vents or openings in the sleek metal. A single side had swung open, revealing an interior that was devoid of any seating or safety equipment, although there was a bank of monitors that were dark and dead. The Doctor strode forward like he ran the place, and one of the inspectors intercepted him.

"Who are you," he said. "What do you think you are doing here?"

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor.

"He's a xenoscientist," said Tall-one.

"Here's his ID," said Eyebrows.

The inspector scanned what Christopher could now see was blank paper. Rory leaned over.

"Psychic paper," he whispered. "I don't get it either."

"I thought no one was getting contact with the government," said the inspector.

"We were in the neighborhood," answered the Doctor. "Mind if I have a look?"

The Doctor moved towards the ship and the inspector had no choice but to tag along. "Detective Inspector Ragman. So you're a…"

"Xenoscientist." The Dcotor dropped to a knee at the edge of the open side and inspected small crenulations along it's edge.

"And that means?"

"I study things from other planets," the Doctor answered, then shot to his feet. He walked past the inspector, back to Christopher, Liz, Amy and Rory. "So, what do we see?"

"I see a big old spaceship," answered Amy.

"Wrong," said the Doctor. "You see a big NEW spaceship. Very new! So what do we know?"

"That the aliens have new ships," Amy deadpanned.

"Oh Pond, sometimes," the Doctor lamented. "Christopher, go."

"Go what?" Christopher looked shocked.

"Do your science-fictiony detectivey thingy!"

"Okay, um," Christopher strode forward. "The ship is new. That means it hasn't been used before. No obvious thrusters or vents or anything, so unless it is powered by an invisible force…"

"They are not expecting to get off the planet in these," smiled the Doctor. "And the fact that it is new suggests they make new ships every time they invade, or this is their first invasion. Let's go for option one. Ragman!" The Doctor spun on his heels.

"Yes, uh," the inspector answered.

"Doctor. What came out of the ship?"

The inspector shrugged. "We don't know. The doors opened and…nothing."

"Curious," answered the Doctor, and spun on his heels again. "Christopher. Go."

"Okay," said Christopher, getting more confident. "One of three options. A: the ships were empty save for something that _wasn't _the alien. Like a disease, or nanobots. Something too small to see. B: The aliens were onboard but cloaked themselves when they left the ship, or have the ability to become invisible. C: the aliens are too small to see, or are a gas, or something else that makes them naturally invisible."

"Dig deeper," said the Doctor.

"Um, alright," Christopher strode forward and studied the ship. "Okay, so. There's no seating or straps or anything. The ship is maybe ten meters tall, but the interior is only three-ish. That means most of the top is a sensor array. The screens suggest a need for this array, but lack of controls means that the ship is launched from something larger and doesn't control itself. The screens aren't for control readouts but for something else. No door opening mechanism. Either on a timer or sound controlled? Option one, in my mind."

"You're getting there," said the Doctor.

"The message had a corresponding image," Christopher stroked his chin. "A humanoid priest. Size of interior would suggest only, what, three humanoids could safely ride in it. They could easily diffuse themselves in a crowd after using cloaking to force their way in. But why blend after such a public showing…"

"Because they need something they can't get if they just storm the streets," Rory said. "I was a Roman for a while, I understand the whole war thing."

Amy took a step forward. "But what do they need?"

"Whatever it is must have to do with the sleeping," said Christopher.

Ragman stepped forward. "Sleeping," he asked. "What sleeping?"

The Doctor spun away. "Sorry, Ragman, have to go," he grinned and darted off.

"Have to go," Ragman yelled after him. "Where do you have to go?"

"Where do a whole bunch of sleeping people gather," the Doctor shouted back.

Rory slapped his forehead. "A hospital."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Room of Always Asleep

As they got out of Christopher's tiny car at the hospital, they were greeted by chaos. Three ambulances were getting back simultaneously, and several more were leaving. The Doctor ran up to the nearest paramedics.

"What happened," he asked, looking down at the person on the stretcher.

"Tried to leave town," the paramedic answered. "In a car with a few others. They hit the town line and their engine exploded. He should be fine, he was tossed from the car and has only sustained some bruises, but he won't regain consciousness."

The Doctor's brow furrowed. "I'm the Doctor. Let me have a look."

"You're a doctor," the paramedic said doubtfully, but instinctively took a step back. The Doctor leaned down to the young man on the stretcher and put an ear to his mouth.

"Breathing is right," he mumbled, then pulled down an eyelid and checked the dilation. "Hmm, fits fine. Energy readings it is."

The Doctor drew a strange device from an inside pocket. A gold-and-silver tube with a pronged head. He aimed it at the young man and it glowed and released an odd electric-throbbing sound. The Doctor moved it from the man's head to his toes and back again, then looked at it intensely, rolling the device over in his hands.

"Hmm," he said, then put the device away. "Alright, I'm done. Continue doing paramedic-y things…"

The Doctor moved from the paramedics' way and they left, utterly confused. Christopher, Liz, Amy and Rory rejoined the Doctor, each questioning him with their eyes.

"We were right," he said, leading them through the emergency room doors. "Low-level radio waves were sitting in his head like a mold. Also, he needs a dental check-up."

"Doctor," Amy hit him in the shoulder. "That man isn't waking up!"

"He's fine," said the Doctor. "Once we stop the signal from getting all trapped inside their skulls, it'll release naturally and they will wake up."

They reached the triage nurse. The Doctor drew out the pad again and showed it to her. "I'm the Doctor," he said. "I understand you have a bit of an emergency, aside from, you know…"

He waved his arms around the emergency room.

"Uh, yes, of course," she said. "Forgive me. It's been an unusual day."

"I understand," the Doctor smiled. "Just get us someone to bring me to the room where you are keeping them."

The group was told to wait while they got the doctor who was in charge of the Room. Christopher had no idea of what the Room was or what was in it. He also had no idea how the Doctor knew about it.

"Doctor," Christopher asked. "What are we doing in the hospital?"

"Sleeping people," he said, "don't tend to group together. But there is always someone asleep in a hospital. And by now, they'll be seeing that people aren't waking up. Even those who have just dozed off or closed their eyes, they'll never wake. They'll know it's related to the message earlier, so they'll be quarantining them. We need to see them. We need to see how this works."

A short, elderly woman in scrubs approached them. "I'm Doctor Vandermeer. I'm in charge of the sleepers. Follow me."

They were led to a double-door that read "Xavier Dawson Ward" in red letters. "This is where we've moved them," she said.

"Has there been anything unusual during their sleep," the Doctor asked.

"We started moving them here ten minutes ago. We've hardly had time to notice anything unusual."

They went through the doors. "They all seem to be sleeping naturally," she continued. "They simply don't wake up."

"Who was the first one you noticed," the Doctor asked.

"Alfred Banning," she said. "He has a tumor on his lung. Had. He was in post-surgery when whatever happened happened. He should have woken up there, but just…stayed asleep. And then we found Doctor Yang, asleep in his morning coffee. Then we realized that anyone who goes to sleep stays that way."

"Keep everyone essential awake," said the Doctor. "Nurses, EMTs, doctors, even the volunteers and janitors. All of them. For as long as possible. This is an invasion," he explained, "and they're keeping us docile. Can I see this Alfred Banning?"

"This way," led Doctor Vandermeer. She brought them to a door near the end of the hall, which Christopher now realized was a dead end save for what appeared to be doors to an operating room.

"Just in case," Vandermeer said. She opened the door and led them in.

Inside was a typical hospital room: bed, window, bedside table, blinking monitors and dripping IV. However, the area around the bed was encased in a plastic bubble. A man lay of the bed. He was perhaps fifty, with a drawn face and a complete lack of hair that suggested chemotherapy. He wore a hospital gown and lay completely still, save for the rise and fall of his chest.

"Why's he in there," asked the Doctor.

"Quarantine protocol," Vandermeer responded, "we can't have anyone else getting sick."

The Doctor looked at her intensely. "We're all already sick." He moved to the bubble and studied the man named Alfred Banning. "Same as before," he finally said. "Are they all like this?"

"All of them," agreed Vandermeer.

"Then our theory was right," the Doctor grinned. "All right Ponds, Liz, Chris. We know that…"

Suddenly a man rushed to the door in nurse's scrubs. "Doctor Vandermeer. We have an emergency with one of the new sleepers."

Vandermeer turned to follow. "What's wrong?"

"He began seizing," explained the nurse. "Before we could get him in the bubble, he just started thrashing. Then he woke up."

The Doctor's eyes went wide. "He woke up?"

"For a second," the nurse clarified. "But now…he's not asleep, he's not awake. He's just lying there. He's like a vegetable."

"Show me," the Doctor and doctor said in unison.

The nurse led the group to a stretcher in the hall. Christopher recognized the man on it right away: the young man from the car crash. He lay there, eyes open and slowly blinking, his face a placid mask. His breathing was slow but steady.

"No," said the Doctor, running over and examining the young man. "No no no. I checked him ten minutes ago. He was fine. He was fine."

Doctor Vandermeer tried to get a look, but the Doctor was already moving and mumbling to himself.

"Not asleep," the Doctor said. "Not awake either. Why him, why not someone who has been asleep longer?" The Doctor strode about the man. "Eyes don't suggest any recognition. Not even any movement. No…life. Oh no, oh dear…"

"What is it, Doctor," Amy asked.

"I think, I _think_, his mind may have been…removed."

"Removed? Removed how?" Rory asked.

"This is ridiculous," said Vandermeer. "Minds can't just be removed. You need a brain to think."

"No you do not," said the Doctor. "Most people assume that the body is indivisible from the mind, or, to put it in another term, soul, that is tied with it. At least until death, that is. However, what if there were to exist a way where a mind could exist separate from the body? What would be left behind?"

"A husk," said Christopher. "Like this one."

The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at Christopher. "Exactly. Now, this is just a theory. There's only one way to be sure."

The Doctor grasped the young man's face in his hands and closed his eyes. His face became calm, quiet. Then he let go.

"Nothing there," he whispered. "Nothing there. I'm right. His mind is gone."

"Gone where?" Liz strode forward.

The Doctor waved his hands vaguely.

"Wait," said Doctor Vandermeer. "You're mad! It can't possibly…"

"Trust me, it can," said the Doctor. "The question is why. Why would these aliens convert humans to telepathic energy…"

"Oh god," said Christopher. "The empty ships. There were no controls because they didn't need them. They weren't empty, the riders were invisible."

"Conversion," the Doctor said. "They said they were converting us to Solace. What if Solace for them is bodilessness for us."

"But what about that man in our heads," asked Rory. "The priest?"

"He's not a priest," said the Doctor. "Or rather, he doesn't look like that. That was an image created from the collective consciousness of the people of Suridge. Why would an alien look so human or wear human priests' garb?"

They all looked at one another.

"We have to go."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Sleepers Wake

The Doctor ran out of the hospital, the others following. As Christopher went to unlock his car, the Doctor shouted back.

"Leave it. We need to talk to the police and fire fighters."

"Why can't we just call, Doctor?" Liz asked as they ran past the car.

"Because do you know how many emergencies are happening right now? People dozing off while they heat some soup will now lead to house fires. People realizing that they can't leave town and, I suspect, no one can get in will lead to violence. We need to skip the middleman."

"Where are we going?" Amy asked.

Rory answered. "There's always police near a hospital in case of emergencies, but they can't be inside all the time or it will make the patients wary."

"Somewhere around here," the Doctor mumbled. Then he pointed. "There!"

Sure enough, a police car idled on a nearby curb. They ran over and saw a young, thin police officer listening to his scanner. The Doctor tapped on the glass and the police constable lowered the window.

"What can I do for you," he said politely. He was obviously stressed, but was trying to keep calm for their sakes.

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor. "I know Inspector Ragman. Am working with him, in fact. I need to get him a message immediately. May I use your radio?"

"I'll need to see some ID," the constable said suspiciously. The Doctor pulled out the psychic paper and handed it to the police constable, then grabbed the radio from inside the car without waiting for permission.

Pressing the button, he spoke. "Ragman? I'm looking to speak with Ragman."

There was a moment of silence. "Ragman here. Is that you, Doctor?"

"Indeed it is," said the Doctor. "I need to tell you something. Whatever is in those pods is invisible. And intangible. In point of fact, they are disembodied minds. Stop looking for them and search everywhere for anyone who is asleep. Make sure none of your men sleep. None of them. Not even one. Tell the fire chief as well. Don't even nod off. Nod off and you're dead. Do you understand?"

"Not even a little," Ragman responded. "But you obviously know more than me. Just a second."

"Another thing, Ragman," the Doctor said. "If you find someone sleeping, bring them to the hospital. But if their eyes are open, LEAVE THEM."

The Doctor tossed the radio handset back to the startled police constable and took back the psychic paper. He turned to the group, but before he could speak, there was a bang and a trail of smoke went up from a building a few streets away. They all looked at one another, then ran. Christopher's mind was working faster than it had since he had left school, putting pieces together.

"Doctor," he huffed, "I had a thought as to why the Solace only affected the young man from the car wreck."

"I'm all ears," said the Doctor. "Not literally of course. That would just be…yech…"

"He wasn't in a bubble. Obviously these…minds…can't travel through space without ships. And their ships were airtight. Because even though they are just minds…"

"They can't control themselves in space," the Doctor said. "Of course. So the sleepers in the bubbles are in airtight enclosures. The Solace can't get to them."

"Exactly," Christopher said. "But isn't that an obvious…flaw in their plan? That they can't get into sealed rooms?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed in thought. They had reached the sight of the bang. A house, it's upper windows shattered and a pale white smoke pouring from them.

"Doctor," Amy said warningly, seeing the look in his eyes. "Doctor, don't."

The Doctor flashed a grin, then ran forward, bursting into the house. Amy was the first to follow him. Rory followed her. And then Chrsitopher and Liz were inside.

The downstairs seemed perfectly ordinary and untouched by what had happened. When they reached the stairs, though, they saw that they were blackened by heat. They could smell the fire upstairs. And the Doctor was already racing up.

"No Doctor," Amy shouted, then followed with a huff.

"No Amy," Rory shouted, then followed with a sigh.

"Damn it," Christopher said, and followed, Liz at his side.

Upstairs was a blackened ruin, speckled with small fires. The heat was stupendous. They went along, checking each room. There were two bedrooms, only identifiable by the smoking beds, a linen closet. In the second to last room, they found something worse. It appeared to be a nursery. Near the window was a badly-hurt pregnant woman. Blood streamed from lacerations across her face and arms, one of which was obviously broken. As Rory made to check on her, the floor at the door of the room suddenly collapsed. The Doctor grasped Rory's shoulder.

"The police will be here soon, they'll find her."

"She might not have that sort of time," Rory shouted.

"We might not either," said the Doctor. "She's not waking up anyways. We have to find whoever else is here."

The opened the last door. It was the upper story bathroom which, by honor of porcelain and water, appeared to be untouched by the explosion. There was a whimpering in the shower. The Doctor stepped in and pulled aside the curtain.

There was a young woman, perhaps 18, sitting in a centimeter of water, She had a nasty cut on her arm, which she was holding shut and whimpering over. She looked up at them.

"Who are you," she asked.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said. "We have to get you out of here, understand."

The woman nodded and let Rory and the Doctor help her up. Her ankle was twisted at an awkward angle. Rory looked at the Doctor and they began leading her down the hall. The smaller fires were growing and chunks of the floor were begin to fall. Smoke stung their eyes and noses, yet the Doctor still spoke.

"What happened here?"

"I'm staying with my sister and brother-in-law," she said, "Ralph, that's me brother-in-law, Ralph was sick today so he was asleep in bed all morning. When that…thing…happening in our heads, he didn't wake up. Nothing we could do would get him up. We didn't know what to do. Suddenly, he had like, a seizure or something, right? And then he lay there with his eyes open. We went to call the ambulance, but when we came up here, he was walking about. But he wasn't okay. He told us to sleep, and when we wouldn't he…"

"Exploded," the Doctor said. The girl nodded. They began hobbling down the stairs.

"So we're walking on," Amy started.

"Bits of people, yes," the Doctor said. Christopher became very uncomfortable. "At least now we know why the bodies are left alive."

"Why," asked Liz.

"The Solace can't interact with the physical world because they have no physical forms. They have to control the leftover bodies to do their bidding. To quell those who won't sleep."

"But what about the exploding," asked Amy.

"No idea," said the Doctor. "Probably a weapon of some type."

"I thought you said they wanted to do this peacefully," Rory huffed.

"And what do they do with the ones that won't lie down?"

There was a moment of silence. They reached the bottom of the stairs. Rory looked at the girl. "Uh, Doctor?"

"Yes Rory," the Doctor answered.

"She's passed out."

The Doctor looked at the girl. "Oh," he said, "oh, no. Hurry. Get her outside."

They all moved double-time, but before they could reach the front door, the girls started thrashing. "She's having a seizure," said Rory.

"No she isn't," said the Doctor. "She's having her soul ripped out."

They kept moving. The girl stopped moving on the doorstep. They got her to the small front lawn and laid her down. They all looked. Her eyes stared up at the sky, blinking slowly. They all looked at her.

"It's getting faster," said Christopher.

"The more of them there are, the easier it is, I expect," said the Doctor. "Many hands make light work."

They continued watching.

"What are we waiting for, Doctor," asked Liz.

"I want to see the sleepers wake," replied the Doctor. "I want to give the Solace a message."

Suddenly the girl jerked, as if unaware of how to use her limbs. Creakily, robotically, she stood. She looked between them. It was her voice that sprouted from her lips, but the words were not her own. They came out forced and individualized, as if she did not remember how to use her tongue.

"You. Will. Sleep," she said. "You. Must. Sleep."

"Doctor," said Amy, "Doctor, I'm scared. Can we go?"

"Well, hello there," said the Doctor to the girl. "I'm the Doctor. Who are you?"

"We. Come. With. Solace," said the girl.

"Yes, I understand," said the Doctor. "But who are you?"

"We. Are. Bodiless," said the girl. "You. Will. Sleep. And. Join. Us."

"Well, I don't think that will be happening today," grinned the Doctor. "I do have a message for you, though."

The girl's head creaked to the side in an odd mirror of a questioning tilt.

"I'm the Doctor," he said. "I. Am. The. Doctor. You had some difficulty, you bodiless, getting your message into my head. You know why? Because I'm me. I fix things. And what you are doing here, oh, this is one of those things I am just plain meant to fix. So get your giggles while you can, because soon, oh so soon, you'll have no spaceships to run back to and I'll be at your heels. Did you get all that?"

The girl's head returned to its normal position. "It. Is. Known," she said. "But. Words. Mean. Nothing. All. Men. Sleep. Goodbye. Doctor."

"Goodb-" started the Doctor as a question, when the girl threw her arms out. Her skin began to glow. Brighter and brighter the glow grew, until she was a ball of light. At the last minute, just as the girl's skin cracked and her body sundered, the Doctor turned and yelled.

"Run!"

Then she exploded.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Smoke Everywhere

As they pulled themselves up and brushed the dirt, ash and small bits of front yard off themselves, the Doctor strode forward to the point of explosion and looked at it.

"Spontaneous conversion to pure energy," he said. "I've made a terrible mistake!"

"What is it, Doctor," Amy asked, striding forward.

"I told Ragman to bring all of the sleepers to the hospital," said the Doctor. "Soon they'll be overcrowded. They won't have enough bubbles. And when they get up, they'll either tear open the bubbles they do have or explode! We need to speak with Ragman!"

"Back to the policeman," said Liz.

"Look around," said the Doctor. "There must have been some more explosions, there's smoke everywhere."

Sure enough, several more great white plumes of smoke were rising up from various points around town.

"We were lucky this one exploded outside," said Liz. "Whatever energy she was converted to mostly dissipated before she went off. We'd be dead if we were inside."

"We need to get to the TARDIS," said the Doctor. "We can contact Ragman from there, tell him to deal with the explosions, not the sleepers. If he hasn't figured that out himself."

"He's a detective," said Christopher, "he'll have worked it out by now."

"He's also dealing with something unprecedented," said the Doctor. "To the TARDIS. I need to research the Solace anyways. We need intelligence."

Christopher began going back towards the hospital to retrieve his car, but the Doctor shook his head. "Walking will be faster now. People will be in the streets, trying to escape or just because being inside is worse. We have to run."

Amy and Rory were on his heels right away. Christopher and Liz were slower on the uptake.

"Why does it always need to be running," huffed Christopher as they dashed off.

At first they followed the street, but it became apparent that, farther down, the road was clogged with the cars of those trying to flee. Christopher swung a hard right into a thin alley.

"This way," he yelled.

They burst out into someone's garden, but Christopher kept running. He opened the gate and they were then on a back street. He turned left and found himself running right for a clumsily moving man.

"You. Must. Sleep."

Christopher swung right and hopped a fence into another garden before them man could move towards them. He ran down a side path and found himself faced with several tipped bins. He leapt them and dashed across the front yard.

"We're only one street up from my row," Christopher huffed, resting.

'Keep going," shouted the Doctor as he ran past. Christopher cocked his head and saw three people running after them stiffly, clumsily, but quickly. Christopher's eyes went wide and he turned and ran. They followed the streets now, and found themselves next to the back gate of the garden. Christopher fumbled for his keys and opened the steel-gate in the stone wall. They clambered through. Christopher shut the gate as their pursuers reached it. The possessed people wasted no time in beginning their climb.

"Into the TARDIS," yelled the Doctor. "Now, go go go!"

Christopher followed Amy, Rory and Liz into the TARDIS. Just as the Doctor shut the door, Christopher caught a glimpse of the sleepers who had been chasing them. There was a moment of silence, then three extremely muffled booms.

"Well," said the Doctor. "That was intense. Okay, so…"

The Doctor dashed up to the console and pulled out a monitor. He mumbled to himself, then seemed to notice that everyone was watching him.

"This is going to take awhile," he said. "Go…rest or something. You're not going to be able to sleep any time soon and should catch your rest while you can."

Amy and Rory collapsed in chairs near the console, while Liz wandered off into a hall. Christopher caught his breath and then followed her.

He found her much further down the hall, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes from a pocket and a lighter from another. She was seated on a short flight of stairs in the so-white halls. As she lit the cigarette, she noticed Christopher.

"You smoke," Christopher said.

"I was just chased by exploding people, I think I'm due one," she said. "Want one?"

"Oh god yes," Christopher said, and collapsed onto the stairs next to her. He took off his blazer while she lit his cigarette. "Isn't it a little ironic that we're smoking after running from people who spontaneously combust."

"What better way to honor their memories," Liz said flatly. Christopher chuckled.

"Do you think the Doctor would want us smoking in here," Christopher asked.

Liz flicked some ash from her fag and said, "I have a feeling that there is a smoking room with bottles of scotch and thick armchairs somewhere in here, and that is the only place the Doctor would accept smoking."

"I'll believe that," said Christopher.

They sat in silence for a minute. Then Christopher spoke.

"What's your full name, Liz," he asked. "Where are you from?"

"Elizabeth Slader," Liz answered. "From London. It's where I'm doing my doctorate. Took the train up here to talk with the professor. Bad timing I guess."

"'Spose so, yeah," said Christopher. "Family's from there then?"

Liz nodded. "My mum and dad, yeah," she answered. "My sister is in Asia studying monkeys. Your parents?"

"I haven't got any," said Christopher. "Rather, I did, at some point, but they are dead. I lived at a special school for orphans until I went to college."

"Oh," she said.

"You don't have to be sorry," Christopher grinned. "I've been an orphan for 25 years. I had people who loved me and were like parents. I don't even think about it."

"Special school for orphans, though," Liz laughed. "It sounds like a comic book where all the orphans have superpowers or something."

"Maybe we did," Christopher laughed. "Maybe I am actually bulletproof or something and its only at the last moment that you guys will learn."

The silence dangled between them.

"Do you still think none of this is happening," Liz asked.

Christopher stared at the burning end of his cigarette. "No. I know it's happening. All of it. The Doctor, the TARDIS, the sleepers. All of it."

"How do you know," Liz asked.

"I never smoke in my dreams."

"I just…I can't believe it," said Liz. "I can't believe that any of this…"

"I know," said Christopher. "I know."

They sat in silence. Suddenly, they heard footsteps and Amy burst around the corner.

"Ah, there you lot are," she said. "Wait, are you _smoking_?"

"Look, just don't tell the Doctor," Liz said. "I'm sure he has a rule…"

"I won't tell the Doctor," interrupted Amy. "Just give me a goddamn drag."

As Christopher handed over the last of his cigarette, he cocked an eyebrow. "You smoke?"

"Not when the Doctor or Rory are looking," she said. She finished the last of the cigarette in one pull and blew out the smoke through her nose with a look of ecstasy. Then she tamped out the butt on the wall and flicked it farther into the hall. "Alright, let's go."

"The Doctor's not going to be suspicious about ash and butts?" Christopher rolled his neck as he stood and was aware of the several pops he felt.

"The TARDIS is big and empty," said Amy. "She'll sort it out. Doctor's waiting."

Liz flicked away her own but and the three of them went back to the TARDIS control room. The Doctor stood waiting. He looked up at them, eyes wide and grinning.

"I think," he said. "I think I've worked it out."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Religious Experience

"Worked what out, Doctor," Liz asked.

"The Solace," said the Doctor, dancing around the central terminal, "or the sleepers or bodiless or whatever you want to call them. Why they are doing what they are doing…and why they chose Suridge."

"You know why they came here," Christopher asked.

"One step at a time," the Doctor said. "The Solace. Think about them. How they work. What they've told us. They want to convert us. They're missionaries. Solace is a religion. What does that tell us? Well, they didn't just start as bodiless minds, did they. Something couldn't just start by existing that way. There's no growth, no extension. As a species, it's a dead end. They had to make a choice. But why?"

"It couldn't have been religious at first," Liz answered. "They had to make a choice to do it. They had to have had technology and scientific processes to make it viable."

The Doctor snapped his fingers. "Exactly. So it's a scientific thing. But over the centuries, they sit there as bodiless minds, unable to interact with the physical world. And as time goes on, they forget. Because that's what minds do, they forget. Time muddles things, especially when you have nothing to do but think. So they sit there and slowly their scientific choice becomes a religious experience. They believe that flesh is pain and suffering and only by escaping it is there truth. Now, somehow, they get spaceships. Perhaps another species lands on their world and they infest the ship like a virus. Perhaps they find a way to control their old technology without the need of physical bodies. Regardless, they get them. And like any religion…"

"They spread," said Rory. "I saw it a hundred times back when I was…you know…"

The Doctor nodded. "They spread, on a mission of religious conversion. And they get more and more minds, and a bigger and bigger army. But where does a religious army go when it invades? What do they strike first?"

Christopher scratched his nose. "The already established religion. Churches, synagogues, prayer houses, whatever."

The Doctor tapped his nose. "So, we have a location. That is where they'll be, for what it is worth. That's where their leader will be as well."

"It's like a game my friend James from school would have played," Christopher said. "All the intricacies, all the moving pieces, all just to see if they come tumbling down when given the right push."

"Oh, they'll come tumbling down," said the Doctor. "They have no ships to get off-world for as long as they are in Suridge. Which brings us to the big question…why here? Why in a town not small enough to be a village but not big enough to be important? London isn't far…"

They all looked about at one another, searching for the answer.

"Weird begets weird," pushed the Doctor. "There is something in this town that isn't quite right. Something that doesn't act quite right, that doesn't think quite right. Not for a human."

"But you didn't show up until after they started," said Christopher.

The Doctor shook his head. "No, not me. Where there is one odd thing, many others will follow. I was only one of them. Something that doesn't have a place here…"

Christopher sat down. "Oh god," he said. "Oh my god…"

"What is it," asked Amy. "What's wrong?"

"It's me," Christopher stared at the Doctor. "It's me."

"I've been wondering since we met, since the first time you went all Holmes-y on us. Ordinary people don't think that way. I've asked for your thought process more than once, just to see how it works and, the fact of the matter is, I don't know. There's a reason I've read all your books."

Christopher didn't blink. "You like them because they remind you of…"

"Me," the Doctor nodded. "You think like me."

They all sat quiet.

"But, I'm…"

"Human, yes," said the Doctor. "Or at least something that has very much convinced itself that it is. Your mind very much isn't, though."

"I'm," Christopher buried his head in his hands. "What am I?"

"I promise you, we will find out," said the Doctor. "But first, we have to save Suridge. We have to stop the Solace. Can you do that?

Christopher lifted his head and shook it. He chuckled sadly. "I'm only human."

The Doctor smiled. "And braver than most. Come along, Ponds…Liz…Chris. We have a mass to get to. Can't be late. That'd just be rude."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Broken Memories and Burning Light

As the dashed through the streets, any concept of vehicular travel long forgotten, Christopher's mind buzzed along with its own problems. He couldn't care less about Solace and Sleepers and bodiless and everything else. All he cared about now was who he was.

He was so certain that there must have been a mistake, that the Doctor was wrong. He remembered his childhood. At the school for orphans. Gifted orphans, perhaps, all very intelligent and very quick and strong, but…normal. Yet the more he tried to remember his life, the more pieces of it seemed to slip through his fingers. It was like every sad or angry memory just didn't exist. Like all he remembered was being perpetually happy. _No one is always happy_, he thought, _no one_.

And his friends. His childhood friends. He couldn't remember their faces, even having spent most of his life with them. James, Marshall, Susan, Patricia, Lucas. Their faces were blurred and distorted and invisible to him. Hoe could he not remember James' face? They had boarded together, not only at the orphan school, but in college.

And that was another thing, he now realized. All of the orphans had attended the same college, it seemed. In fact, Christopher couldn't much remember anyone else going there. Oh, the vaguest sense existed of there being others, but they didn't actually exist. It was like his memories had been made to not pass under close inspection. But of course, he had never inspected before. He had just assumed what he thought was right.

By the time he had come to that conclusion, his feet and eyes had let him follow the others to a courtyard off White Church Road, named, unsurprisingly, for the large white church that stood on the court. Rather, it had once been white, a long time ago. Now, the paint had peeled away and the stone beneath was all that showed. There had been a movement to repaint the church some years past, but people liked the look of the stone better. Gave it a more classic look. And so St. Francis-on-White-Church was gray.

It was also surrounded by more than sixty clumsily moving people. They pushed at the walls, the doors, the windows.

"What are they doing," asked Liz.

"Trying to figure out how doors work," said the Doctor. "They haven't had bodies for so long they've flat forgotten."

Christopher's ears picked up on muffled noises, as did, apparently, Rory's.

"There's people in there," Rory said.

"Where do people turn when things get odd and scary and dangerous," the Doctor asked. No answer was needed.

"If even one of them falls asleep," Amy said.

"The building is hardly airtight," Liz agreed.

"We need to do something," Rory said.

The Doctor looked at Christopher. Christopher looked back.

"You're the Doctor," said Christopher flatly. "I'm…something."

"We need to convey a message," said the Doctor. "We need to organize a meeting."

"A what," Amy said. "Doctor, you're not saying…"

"I'm saying exactly what you think, Mrs. Pond," he responded. "They may be acting violently, but in the end, this is a religious conversion. In the end, they have a peaceful goal. At least in their minds. I think, I _think_, they may be willing to talk."

"Not everyone wants to talk, Doctor," Rory said.

"Not everyone wants to fight, either," the Doctor said, and, before anyone could say otherwise, the Doctor dashed from their hiding place, yelling and waving his arms.

"Hey, hey you lot, over here!"

One by one, the shamblers turned to face him. They moved slowly, and several spoke in those broken, individual words.

"You. Must. Sleep."

"Yes, so I've heard," said the Doctor. "I just wanted to say hello. You've all heard my previous message then? Good. We're on the same page. You folks must have a leader, yeah? A bishop or cardinal or pope or some such?"

"The. Great. Leader. Speaks. Through. Us." Christopher noted that there were several police officers among the crowd. With guns. He hoped they didn't know how to use them.

"Yes, well, that's all very well and good," said the Doctor, "but I want to speak to him. Not right now, naturally. On neutral ground and all that. Later. I just want to know a bit more before I make the choice to convert and all that."

"You. Have. Fought," said one.

"You. Will. Not. Choose. Solace. Willingly," said another. They were getting close now.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," said the Doctor, taking a step back. "But I like making informed decisions and all that. Old mind, young body. Hard to break the habits of both, you know."

"Easier. To. End. You," said one of them.

"Far. Easier," said a police officer.

"Less. Trouble."

"Less. Dissent."

"Ah," said the Doctor. "So, this isn't a peaceful conversion then?"

"Kill. A. Rebellion's. Leader."

"And. The. Rebellion. Falls. Too."

Christopher noted a police officer's hand going for the gun at his hip. They knew how to use them.

"Fair enough," said the Doctor. "I do have one thing to say first."

"What. Is. That?"

"RUN!" The Doctor turned to sprint off, but the police officer's hand was coming up.

"Doctor, NO!" Christopher dashed out as the trigger was pulled. The bullet flew through the air, as did Christopher. Had their paths not intersected, the bullet would have struck the Doctor in the back of the head. As it was, the bullet went through Christopher's chest.

As he hit the ground, the sleepers marching towards him. Christopher had the odd sense that it didn't hurt as bad as he would have expected. Oh, it burned and froze at the same time, but he felt no worse than a bad case of indigestion. _I'm in shock_, he said, _once that wears off I'll be well and truly screwed._

He felt hands lifting him up and dragging him quickly off. Words that were far away.

"Why'd you do that," one voice.

"He's bleeding badly," said another.

"Bullet's stuck in the wound," a third, "but it missed his heart."

"Why in god's name did you do that," the first. "I would have survived. I would have regenerated. Worse things than dying for me. But for you, it's final."

"Not human anyways," Christopher mumbled.

"You think just because you're not human you can kill yourself," the Doctor's voice, maybe, "I've not been human for almost a millennia, and you don't see me jumping in front of bullets."

"Yes you do, Doctor," Amy?

"But I don't get hit. Are they following?"

"Yes, but they're slow. Thank god."

"In there," the Doctor said, and Christopher felt them swing a right. He heard a door close and blinds close.

"On the sofa," said Rory, "keep his head back so he can breath. Swellings already started."

"He's sweating a lot," Liz said worriedly.

"You would be too," said the Doctor.

"I need something to get the bullet out," Rory said. "Pliers. And something to sterilize them. Vodka and a lighter."

"You sound like you've done this before," Christopher mumbled distantly.

"He's a nurse," said Amy. "And he travels with the Doctor."

"And I lived for a long time once," Rory said. "I'll need clean linens. And a knife. And anything to disinfect the wound. More alcohol, or disinfectant if they have it. Thank god they have plastic on their furniture. Um…light too."

"Rory," the Doctor said.

"And, I should close the wound. Too wide to stitch. Going to have to wait. Stay awake, Chris. Don't pass out."

"Rory," Amy said.

"What?"

"Look," the three others said.

The area around Christopher's wound was _glowing_, streams of gold light pulling from it. Christopher couldn't feel it at first, but as soon as the bullet began being forced from the wound, he thrashed.

"Is he…" Amy started.

"Regenerating," the Doctor whispered. He dashed forward for a better look.

The bullet popped from the wound, which began closing. But the light wasn't stopping. It crept across Christopher's skin, reaching out like tentacles and touching more and more of him.

"Is he a…" Rory asked.

"No," said the Doctor. "No. One heart. But… Christopher! Can you hear me?"

Christopher screamed in response. He was fully aware now. And whatever was happening was painful, like he was being torn apart atom by atom.

"Listen to me, Christopher," the Doctor said. "You're regenerating. But you have a choice. You can stop it. You can stop yourself from changing. You can will it. You are healed now. Force the energy into me, understand. I can contain it. I'm made to. You aren't. If you want it to stop, put the light into me."

"It burns…" Christopher screamed.

"You're at least mostly not Time Lord, of course it burns. And it's slow. Do it now or you won't have a choice."

"I don't know how," Christopher grimaced. His skin was already beginning to turn.

"Yes you do, you knew how to start and you know how to end," said the Doctor. "Into me, now!"

Christopher rolled over and grabbed the Doctor's face. He screamed and the light pulled away. His skin went back to normal as the light streamed down his hands and onto the Doctor's face. For a brief moment, they screamed together. And then it was done. The burning light was gone. The Doctor stood up. There was a moment of silence.

"Doctor," Amy said, "Doctor, what just happened?"

"He was regenerating," said the Doctor. "I absorbed it. Or most of it. The next time I regenerate, though…it's going to be a show, I'll tell you."

"No," said Amy. "How was Christopher regenerating?"

"I don't know," said the Doctor. "But he's no Time Lord. Not even a Chameleon Arched one. I've been having the TARDIS scan for them since…long story…"

Christopher sat up. His skull burned, but the wound was gone. "I'm hungry," was the only thing he could muster.

"Your body still feels like it went through a full regeneration," said the Doctor. "It expends a lot of energy. You'll need to eat."

"Fish fingers and custard," Amy said.

"Ew," Christopher said.

"To each their own," said the Doctor. "But we have several big problems at the moment. First, how could you regenerate? Second, how do we stop the Solace? Third, how do we get out of this house, because they are at the door?"

There was a bang and they all knew he was right.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Mostly The Same

"My tongue feels weird," Chris said. The Doctor snapped his fingers in front of Chris's face.

"Christopher," he said. "Focus here. Bigger issues. Alright?"

"Why does my tongue feel weird," Chris said, looking about.

"Look, when a Time Lord dies, his body rebuilds itself, atom by atom," the Doctor explained, "the result is a new man: new looks, new personality, but with the same mind and memories. You just mostly regenerated. I'd say you were about 75% of the way through. Your bones are probably mostly new, and all of your organs. There's even a few cosmetic changes, and you might find yourself thinking a little differently. But you are still, essentially, you."

"You mean you didn't actually stop him regenerating," Amy asked.

"No, no," the Doctor said. "We more sort of stalled the process. In a mostly literal sense, he's regenerating right now, just very, very slowly. It'll take less to bump him through the next time."

Chris stood up. "I'm calling myself Chris in my head," he said nonsensically. "I've always been a Christopher, not a Chris."

Chris caught a glance of himself in a mirror above the mantle. "My hair is thicker," he said. "And my eyes weren't blue before. I feel…"

"Bouncy," said the Doctor. "I know. But listen. There are sleepers at the doors. Thankfully they still can't work those, and I've locked them in case they work out the whole grabby-twisty thing. I need you to help us work out how to get out. Eventually one of them is just going to decide to detonate."

"What time is it," Chris asked.

"Half-six," said Rory, checking his watch. "Why is that important?"

"Helps with what side of the house the shadows will be on," Chris mumbled. He shut his eyes and thought, his mind suddenly feeling very Christopher-ish. Odd how it seemed compartmentalized into the two people.

"Okay," he said. "There's a second storey window that leads out onto the garage's roof. Noticed it on the way in. Probably a bathroom window. Frosted glass. Okay. Shadows will be on the…"

"West side," finished the Doctor for him. "However, getting off the roof…"

"Will be an issue, yes," Chris bit his lip. "Into the neighbour's yard. But we'll need…"

"A soft landing," said the Doctor. "I'd suggest a mattress, but fitting it through the window…"

"How about cushions and pillows and blankets," said Chris.

"You two sound like children planning on jumping off a roof," said Liz, "not grown men. I can't be more than a four-meter drop, at most. We won't get hurt."

"One twisted ankle and we're all screwed," said Chris. "Oh…now that is clever. I didn't know I could think like that."

"You couldn't," said the Doctor. "What is it?"

"We overlooked the garage entirely," said Chris. "What if there is a car?"

"We can't drive anywhere, the roads are jammed," said Amy.

"Yes, but maybe we can make a hole," said Chris. "Start the car, weight on the gas. Boom, we run out after it while the sleepers are all confused. And they will be. They don't have physical interaction. They idea of using physics at all will bewilder them. They can't even open doors.

They all looked at one another. Amy spoke. "That's so simple I feel stupid. The Doctor always makes things so difficult."

"I resent that," said the Doctor. "I make things elegant. And fun."

Chris was already off towards the door into the garage. It took three tries before he found it (broom cupboard, coat closet, garage), but, sure enough, there was a car inside. There was room for a second, but it had evidently been taken. The others appeared at his shoulder.

"Serendipity," Liz said.

"We don't have keys," said Rory.

"Keys," said the Doctor, "who needs keys?"

He strode forward and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He unlocked the door and leaned into it. A moment later, the car was humming.

"Can I drive this time," he said as he came out.

"No one's driving," said Chris. He went to the shelves on one wall and started lifting things, until he found a broken lawn statue that seemed heavy enough. The stone angel gazed up at him with a beatific grin as he went to the car.

"Sorry," he said. "You'll be weeping after this."

He leaned into the car and shifted it into neutral. He set the angel on the gas pedal and leaned out. "Be ready to run," he said, and the others nodded. He threw the gear switch into reverse and leapt back. The car slammed backwards, bursting through the garage door in a shower of splinters. The group ran through, hoping the plan had worked.

Sure enough, most of the sleepers had stumbled back, but one had been caught by the rear of the car and was being pushed to the other side of the street, a strange look on his face. Chris did not get a chance to savor it before he ran. For once, he wasn't huffing.

"A decade of smoking completely undone," he said, and Liz gave him a sideways glance. They were turning down another street before the sleepers could follow.

Five minutes later, they were leaping the wall of Chris' garden. Two sleepers paced about, evidently waiting for them. The creatures were rapidly becoming less clumsy, but still weren't quite quick enough to grab any of the group as they dashed and twisted between outreached hands. They slammed the doors of the TARDIS and collapsed.

"Well," said the Doctor. "That was informative. Now then, Chris…what exactly are you?"

Chris fell into a chair and sighed once. "Two hours ago I'd have said human," he said. "Now, I'm wondering why I'm so cavalier about not being human."

"Your new mind is just deciding to accept it," the Doctor said. "You only have doubts because your old one is still bouncing around in there. Who were your parents? Things like this don't just happen."

"He hasn't got any," Liz said. "Parents, that is."

"Hasn't got any? You can't just not have parents," the Doctor said. "Even I have parents. Amy dabbled in it, but she has them now."

"I'm an orphan," Chris said. "Or, I think I am. Maybe. My memories are a bit like a broken mirror right now. I can see pieces, but the whole image is sort of chopped up."

"Clever metaphor," the Doctor said. "Do you mind if I have a look?"

"A look," Chris remarked. "At what? My memories?"

"Exactly that," the Doctor said.

"You can't just look into people's memories," Liz said.

"That's why I'm asking first," the Doctor deadpanned. He looked at Chris. Chris shrugged. The Doctor reached out and grabbed his face, shut his eyes and…

Opened them again, a queer look on his face. "Now that is odd."

"What is," asked Chris.

"Lots of little pieces, but none of them really fit in continuity. All real, don't get me wrong. It's more like a big chunk of your life has been lifted from your head, but in such a way that you wouldn't realize. You wouldn't want to. Long story short, your memories have been tampered with."

"Tampered with," asked Chris. "By who?"

"That's a good question, now isn't it," the Doctor said. "And I figure the answer might help us find out what you are. However, I think that it has to wait."

"Wait," said Chris, "wait why?"

"Because until we deal with the Solace," said the Doctor, "everything else has to be secondary. So here's the question…how do you beat something you can't touch or interact with physically?"

"You have to beat them on their own field," said Rory.

"Mentally," finished Chris.

"Yes, but how," said the Doctor. "They won't sit down and talk, they won't set any terms. They are wholly dedicated to ripping minds from bodies. They've totally forgotten how…oh…oh, now that is very good. That is very, very good."

The Doctor spun and danced around the controls until he finally hit a button. A device sprang from the console, a sort of headvice mixed with a helmet.

"Doctor," said Amy. "What is that?"

"That, Mrs. Pond, is a Chameleon Arch," said the Doctor, immediately before ripping it from the console. He disconnected several cables and began tinkering with it.

"What are you doing with it," Amy pressed.

"A Chameleon Arch is designed to take a Time Lord's thoughts and memories, his whole self, and store them in an object, usually a watch," said the Doctor. "Essentially, it allows someone to pull out a mind and insert a different one. However, the device itself is more just a convenient pathway into a person's mind, allowing them to channel their mind into the object by choice."

"So you're deciding to go human…why?"

The Doctor looked at Amy quizzically. "Who said anything about 'going human'? Did it once, wasn't fun. No. This contraption is basically just a way for someone to send their memories and experiences somewhere. I'm rewiring it so that it doesn't pull them out, but let's a person convey them to someone else."

"Why," asked Liz.

"Because," said the Doctor. "The Solace have been bodiless for a long time. They've forgotten the good parts of it: sweet tastes, fresh smells, sparking touches. They've forgotten what it means to be in a body, and have decided that it must always be bad. We're going to prove to them otherwise. We're going to help them remember."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Steps Ahead

The rain started at around eight o'clock. Great, fat drops slapped across the door of the TARDIS. Amy, Liz and Rory were collapsed in chairs around the console. Rory was half-heartedly working at a crossword from a newspaper he had pulled from a small stack next to the chair. Chris, however, could not keep still. While the Doctor tinkered away, Chris paced about.

"Could you stop moving about," said the Doctor. "It's really quite distracting."

Chris stopped. "I've been thinking."

"People tend to do that," the Doctor said.

"Something doesn't add up. The Solace crashed down in ships. They can't build things, though. No interaction."

"Then they took over the crew of a ship," said Liz. "What's your point?"

"Those ships were designed for them. They were ships based on how the Solace operate. Those ships were built for them."

The Doctor looked up and nodded. "A problem, yes," he said. "However, it's not something we can worry about now. First thing, stop the Solace, second thing, figure everything out."

"And the more I think about it, the more I have this feeling I recognize the designs," Chris said. "Like a dream half-remembered."

The Doctor glanced up. "Maybe you do," he said, standing. "Stranger things have happened."

The Doctor lifted the new contraption he had built. Somewhere between a bicyclist's helmet, combustion engine and the internal circuitry of a thousand pocket calculators, Chris could not begin to guess at how it worked.

"Alright, you lot," the Doctor said. "This thing is finished."

"Then let's step outside and give it a test," Amy said.

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Exactly. That. Except, well…"

Amy narrowed her eyes. "Doctor…"

"Yeah, I couldn't exactly make it perfectly," he rubbed the back of his leg with a foot. "It's like a guitar without an amplifier. It'll make all the noise we want, but no one will hear it."

"So we need an amplifier," Rory said.

"Exactly," the Doctor agreed.

Liz rubbed her cheek with two fingers. "What kind of amplifier? What do we need?"

"Anything big and built to send out a signal," said the Doctor. "Satellites would do, or a TV station."

"Or a radio tower," said Liz.

The Doctor's eyes lit up. "Or a radio tower, yes."

"There's a radio tower up near the football pitches at the school," Chris said.

"So we go there," Rory said.

"Yeah," said Chris. "But it's on the other side of town. Like, all the way the other side. Near the edge. We'd have to go through a lot of congested streets."

"And being seen might not be the best of options," said the Doctor. "But the radio tower is our best bet."

"A necessary risk," asked Rory with a look of exasperation.

"They always are, my Roman friend," said the Doctor, spinning for the door, helmet tucked under his arm. Liz leaned over and whispered to Rory.

"Are you actually Roman, or…"

"Was once," said Rory. "Then we rebooted the universe."

They followed the Doctor to the door. He was peeking out.

"There's no one there," he said and pushed open the door the rest of the way.

There were three Sleepers waiting near the door into Chris' building. They turned immediately.

"Aside from them, I suppose," said the Doctor. "Run!"

"Where," yelled Amy. The Sleepers were moving towards them.

"Inside," answered Chris. "I have an idea"

Chris dashed off, the others at his heels. His mind was ten steps ahead of where he was at that moment. The door is always loose. Shoulder knocks it open. Down the hall. Warn the others of the loose floorboard that trips everyone. Shift rug six inches with toe while moving to cover it slightly. Shift book shelf with hand while running by. To the right. Mrs. Aldofer never leaves door locked. Into her loft. Lots of sleeping cats, shotgun in umbrella stand. From dead husband, bless his soul. Grab it. Leap couch. Window was open this morning. Vault out. Window opens onto the row. Cross into park. Leap fence. Slow.

The others caught up. "That seemed unnecessarily complicated," said the Doctor.

"One of them tripped on the loose floorboard, pulling carpet enough to slow second. Second stumbles to right, slams shoulder off bookshelf. Bookshelf collapses. Third forced to climb over. Into Mrs. Adolfer's apartment. Notices open window…"

Sure enough, there was a figure in the window. It began to climb out with an immense amount of difficulty.

"But not the hanging flowerpot outside Mr. Alagini's," Chris finished. He fired the shotgun. The flowerpot fell and crashed over the Sleeper's head, knocking it out. Chris dropped the shotgun, knowing it only had one round.

"Now we're not being followed," Chris said.

"Now you're just showing off," Liz crossed her arms in mock annoyance.

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Chris joked.

"Where to now, fearless leader," said Amy.

"The radio station, naturally," said the Doctor.

"Wasn't talking to you, Doctor," Amy grinned, looking at Chris.

"Hey," the Doctor exclaimed. "I'm Fearless Leader."

His brow furrowed. He suddenly realized he had no idea where they were going, he turned to Chris. "Where to now?"

"The radio station," Chris answered. "But first, we should stop by a shop and change clothes."

"What," the Doctor said. "Why?"

"Because they haven't had physical bodies in a long time and everyone probably looks the same to them," Chris said. "Clothes are an easier way of telling people apart. Bright colours, logos. Bow ties."

"Bow ties are cool," the Doctor said like a scolded child.

"It's how they'll recognize us and bead in," Chris rubbed his eyes. "Besides, our clothes are filthy and my pants are two inches too short, my shoes are tight across the toes and this wearing black is way to hot with all this running."

Everyone looked at one another. Five minutes later, they were at a shop. The girls (and Chris too, if he was being honest with himself) were a little too giddy at being able to just take what they need.

"This is stealing," Rory argued at first, but Chris put his mind at ease by shoving all of the money in his wallet in the till, and since Christopher believed in keeping a good amount of cash on hand for emergencies, it was a sizeable sum.

The Doctor had just clicked his teeth and half-half smiled. "Post-regeneration clothing changes," he chuckled. "Happens to all of them."

The Doctor refused to do anything with his clothes other than throw on a yellow raincoat and a wool red-and-blue striped cap with a horrendously amusing pom-pom on top. "Pom-poms are cool," he insisted, and at least the colours were a distamce from his usual tweed, although his bow tie was still plain as day.

Chris, on the other hand, swapped his jeans for a pair of checkered shorts, grabbed a pair of Chuck Taylors in red, and a t-shirt with a print of a poster for the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers, which he found morbidly ironic, although probably not in best taste. Rory just changed his shirt into a plain button-up, which he rolled up to the elbows. Liz came out looking like she was ready for a work-out, with jogging pants, running shoes, a green tank-top and her hair pulled back. Chris marked her as remarkably more practical than anyone else, including himself. Amy changed into a red t-shirt, denim shorts, brown leather boots and a black vest, all of which looked remarkably expensive.

"I figured if we were changing anyways," she explained. Neither Chris nor Rory were going to argue. She looked great, a fact that seemed to escape the Doctor's notice entirely.

"Okay," said Chris, "now to the radio tower."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Alone in the House of Sleep

It turned out the rain had become worse, and suddenly the Doctor's choice of raincoat and hat seemed very appropriate. Catching everyone's sidelong glances in the rain, he looked rather pleased with himself. However, yellow may not have been the most helpful colour to have chosen, and as they dashed from car to car, doorway to doorway, Chris found himself wishing that the Doctor had chosen something a little more stealthy.

The streets were quiet and practically empty. Broken glass littered the ground before many stores, and streams of steam rose where the rain had put out fires. The shards crunched beneath Chris' feet as he moved.

"Where are all the sleepers," Amy whispered. Chris shrugged.

"There must not be very many of them," he answered, "in the grand scheme of things. As for everyone else…the rain has driven the riots home."

After several more streets, they came across the broken front of a bank. There was noise from within, but as they snuck forward, they found it was only a grossly obese cat. Pound notes and coins lay strewn across the road.

"From nice day to post-apocalyptic looting in a few hours," Liz said.

"I'm surprised it took that long," the Doctor said. "When people panic, they turn to one another for comfort. They band into groups. And when they are scared, they lash out. That combination is a terrifying thing."

Soon enough, they came to a pile-up in the street that they couldn't safely pass. The exit to the motorway was clogged with cars. The school, and with it the radio tower, were further on, in a subdivision that was still in a state of being built. Once, only a decade before, only the radio station had stood out there, far from the town to avoid being an eyesore.

It was not the cars themselves that prevented them from moving on, but it was instead the figures moving chunkily between them. Evidently the Sleepers had recognized this area as a chokepoint, and were waiting for those still awake to come through. The group ducked behind a car.

"What do we do now," Liz asked. The Doctor and Chris looked at one another.

"Underneath," Chris suggested.

"It would take us hours to shimmy under all these cars," Amy said.

"That," said the Doctor. "If it wasn't for the sleep-field, I'd suggest we go under the bridge, but I'm willing to bet that we'll fry if we try to go beneath."

"How many of them are there," Chris asked. Rory popped up his head and then shot back down.

"Maybe ten," he said, "fifteen tops. All on the bridge. I can't really see anything past that."

"They don't have the numbers to spread out that far yet," said the Doctor. "Or maybe they do, just a whole bunch of them are in bedrooms, trying to work out how doors work."

That made each of them giggle nervously in their own way, aside from Rory, who sat passively, his face a mask of thought. Chris looked about.

"The edge of the bridge," he said. "We could scale over and climb along the outside where they wouldn't be able to see us."

"Well, that sounds immensely dangerous," said Liz. "It's, what, a twenty meter drop onto hard concrete."

"If you don't get fried by the sleep-field before hitting the ground, yeah," said the Doctor.

"Then one of us," Chris suggested. "One of us gets to the other side, distracts the Sleepers long enough for the others to cross, bing bang boom, we're done."

"Good idea," Amy said. "Except for a few things. A, who will do it. B, where will we meet them. C, whoever does it is risking their life in multiple horrifying ways."

"One life against the many," Chris spoke, suddenly feeling quite cold. "Besides, I'd never suggest it if I couldn't do it myself."

They all looked at him. "Thanks, but you've already died once today," said Liz. "There must be another way."

"I'm stronger now," Chris said. "My muscles are new. And I know I can climb. I used to climb with my friends all the time, getting on roofs and what have you. And I'm faster than I look."

"And you are also mid-way through a stalled regeneration," said the Dcotor. "Where a single good knock on the head could cause you to go completely over. You're flip-flopping between personalities even now. Thrill-seeker and logician. Chris and Christopher."

Chris had had enough. "No debate," he said, rolling up onto the balls of his feet. "It's my choice, not yours."

And he was off before they could argue. He didn't know why the Doctor's words had done the reverse of what the Doctor had wanted, why they had actually convinced him to go for his plan rather than dissuaded him. But he was angry. Chris and Christopher were inside his head, trying to figure out which of them was supplying what part of his emotions.

He reached the concrete edge of the bridge, the others whispering loudly to him to come back. Instead, he gripped the edge rail and vaulted over, keeping careful hold so that he turned in the air and instead of falling, found himself hanging from the side. He looked down and found a promising ledge for his feet and a thin indentation for his fingertips. He shimmied down and stood spread-eagled, catching his breath. He began inching his way across, foot by foot. By the mid-way point, his knuckles were scratched and bloody by the concrete, his feet were sore and his elbows were bruised and skinned, yet he kept going,

It took maybe three minutes for him to cross the bridge, but by the end he felt exhausted. And it was only stage one. He shimmied back up to the edge and carefully peeked over. The Sleepers were all closer to the center of the bridge, and none appeared to have noticed him. He vaulted back over and slipped over to a car. He caught his breath, steeled himself, and climbed onto it's hood. With a might stamp of his foot, the alarm sounded.

"Hey, motherfuckers," he screamed. "I'm finding that I just can't sleep. Was wondering if you could sing me a lullaby."

The Sleepers turned and began moving towards him. He waited for them to get close enough that he knew he could keep them coming, then hopped from the hood. He saw that the others were already sneaking between vehicles. He waited a few more seconds then began jogging backwards.

"Come on, then," he said. "Chase me! Run! It's just like walking, but faster."

The Sleepers cast a sidelong look at one another (interesting, Christopher noticed) and began shambling towards him in a strange straight-legged jog. Chris grinned. They wouldn't catch him, but at least he was assured they would follow. He darted off.

At the end of the bridge he swung a right past some houses. The streets were thankfully clear at first, allowing him to dash from side-to-side, slowing his own run slightly and confusing the Sleepers. However, as he rounded a bend, he came face to undercarriage with an overturned garbage truck.

"How does one of those even get overturned," he yelled, and swung a left into an alley, the Sleepers on his trail. The alley was filled with the dank aroma of piss, and the amount of trash bags suggested he was in the alley next to a pub. There was a fence before him. The Sleepers were starting to get the hang of running and were speeding up now. Chris cast a look over his shoulder and leapt, grabbing the top of the fence and vaulting over. He turned and was amused by the struggle that the Sleepers were having.

Suddenly, he felt strong hands on his shoulders, he spun, and found another Sleeper looking him blankly in the eye.

"You. Must…"

Chris threw an elbow and drove the Sleeper to the ground.

"Sleep," finished Chris. "So I've heard."

The first of the other sleepers was collapsing over the fence now, so Chris darted off, spun a left at the end of the alley and a right into a new one. He hoped the others were across the bridge. He took a series of confusing lefts and rights until, finally, he popped back out onto the main street. He swung left and collapsed behind a car, huffing and puffing.

After a few minutes, he stood and looked around. A thought had just risen in the back of his brain, Christopher prodding and poking and pointing out the obvious.

"_Where will we meet them,_" Amy had asked of the distraction. That question suddenly seemed very pertinent. Chris groaned.

The logician and the thrill-seeker, the Doctor had called his two sides. He realized that he had let the thrill-seeker get the best of him, and now he was alone in the house of sleep. He could go back to the bridge, look for clues, but he knew that there would be sleepers there, if not now then soon. He could traverse the nearby streets hoping to either find a clue to the others' whereabouts or, through sheer luck, bump into them.

Or he could go forward. He knew where the others were headed. They didn't know the town, had been using him as a guide, but that point was now moot. It was easy enough to see the radio tower and walk in that direction. And Chris did know the town. He could head them off, take the local shortcuts. He stood, brushed down his shorts and let himself slip into Christopher for a minute.

"They'll take Chancery Street," he said aloud, as much to help stave off the cloying quiet as to help him think. "But it curves and they'll follow until McKell Drive, and turn there, because they don't know about turning earlier at Young to then turn on Yeoman Row. I can catch them at the schoolyard."

He slapped some life into his legs, bounced on his toes, and darted off through the rain. He soon turned onto Young Street, and then an even quicker turn onto Yeoman Row. Only a few minutes later, he was on the south-west side of the school. He turned right and darted off. He was forced to slip into the schoolyard at one point, due to its L-shape. Figuring he could wait a bit, he darted up the stairs of the slide and sat down, so that he could watch McKell Drive.

Unfortunately, he didn't watch his back.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Math Teacher

Chris felt the cold press of a gun in his lower back. It could equally have been a broom handle, the mouth of a bottle or any number of other cylindrical objects, but Chris had the intense feeling that it was a gun. Having already been shot once that day, and not particularly feeling like being shot again, he slowly raised his hands above his head.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The voice was soft and doughy, but had the grating edge of a man who smoked too much for his own good. Chris scratched a forearm above his head.

"Chris Dawkins," he answered, "and I'm waiting for some friends."

"What sort of friends?"

"The friendly sort," Chris answered.

"Get down here," the voice said. Not particularly feeling like making a fool of himself and actually sliding, Chris grabbed the edge and swung down, landing so that he faced the man with the gun.

The man was of a height with Chris, even with his sudden growth spurt. His hair was thinning but black, with the look of a comb-over that had gotten disheveled. He had a gaunt face but a slight paunch about the rest of him. He wore a white and blue plaid button-up shirt, rolled to his elbows, khakis and shiny black shoes. He held a police-issue rifle, the kind either used by SWAT teams or riot police. He held it with an ease that Chris was surprised at, considering the man looked like a geography teacher. He even had chalk stains on his khakis and the side of his right hand.

"Prove to me you aren't one of them," the man said.

"Them who?"

"Them," the man said, shaking the point of his gun. "Them!"

"The sleepers," Chris said. "Well, I'm neither zombie like, nor am I. Speaking. Like. All. Words. Are. Complete. Sentences."

The man gritted his teeth. He didn't seem amused.

"Also," said Chris. "I'm not alien. Mostly."

The man didn't lower his gun. "Who are you waiting for?"

"My friends," Chris answered. "We got separated, but they'll be coming along this way. Where'd you get the gun?"

"I'm asking the questions here," the man said.

"Oi," a voice yelled from the road. "What's going on?"

As the man looked to see who it was, Chris drove the barrel of the gun away from his chest, drove an elbow under the man's armpit and caught the gun as it dropped. He took out the clip and looked.

"Rubber bullets," he said, as the Doctor and the others ran up. Liz threw her arms around him for a moment, then stepped back.

"Don't you ever do anything so stupid ever again," she said, eyes wide. "We all thought you were dead."

"Not even regenerated," Chris grinned, dropping the gun. The Doctor was inspecting the man.

"Who are you," the Doctor asked.

"David Mackenzie," the man replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor. "Why do you have a rifle with rubber bullets, David Mackenzie."

"When people panic, they go to schools," said Mackenzie. "Gymnasiums, cafeterias. Most people spend the majority of their childhood in schools. Oddly, it feels safe. The police came, because people were gathering and to warn them, and they decided the school was a good base. But then they went off when the walkers started gathering near the church. But they left stuff. Not on purpose. They thought they would be back. They aren't."

"So you took the weapons to defend the school," said the Doctor.

"We don't have many. A few rifles, several handguns. Mostly, we've set up traps," Mackenzie had taken a step back. "Now then, I'm not sure why you're here, but obviously you aren't walkers."

"Walkers," said the Doctor. "We've been calling them Sleepers. How many of you are there?"

"A few dozen families," said Mackenzie. "A couple hundred children. The teachers. And the Plague Ward."

"The Plague Ward," asked Chris.

"When the police told us that sleepers would wake up and attack," Mackenzie answered. "Well, at first we laughed. But then it happened. One of them exploded and we weren't laughing. So anytime someone falls asleep, we put them in the room where we stored the chemicals for the chemistry labs. It's got steel walls and doors in case of fire. They can't escape, and if they blow up, they just hurt themselves."

"Clever," said the Doctor. "Now, Mister David Mackenzie, how would you like to help to save the world?"

They all looked at the man. He swallowed.

"I'm a math teacher," he said. "What can I do?"

"You can let us into that school. You can bring us one of the captive sleepers. You can keep that rifle trained on it. Because they're relearning about bodies, and right now, one thing they fear more than anything is the new sensation we call pain. And I'm willing to bet my life that they won't explode while the threat of even minor pain hangs above them. And we need to test this device."

They all looked as he lifted the helmet.

"Can we spare the time, Doctor," Liz asked.

"We have to," the Doctor replied. "Before, I was willing to take the chance that it wouldn't work. But now we have the glorious chance of testing the device. If we can convince one of them the good things about bodies, then we can convince them all. What do say, Mackenzie? Will you help us?"

"I don't even know who or what you are," Mackenzie said.

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor. "And I'm the man who is going to save you."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Plague Ward

Most of the people who had taken up habitation of the school were in the gymnasium. The adults and older teenagers gathered in groups, speaking in hushed voices, a few playing cards or praying. The older children tried to emulate the adults, but the younger ones, who didn't understand, were either crying or thought it was a game. The teachers and school staff had become the defacto leaders of the group, and seemed to be the ones who carried the weapons. Everyone looked tired.

"What time is it," the Doctor asked. Liz checked her phone.

"Just past seven," she said.

"It's been, what, seven or eight hours," the Doctor said. "And already they're huddling like refugees. Already it's a war camp."

There was a sadness to his eyes, like he was remembering distant times and ancient wars.

"You were a soldier once," Chris said.

"We all were," said the Doctor. "The Time Lords. We all were."

The Doctor suddenly jumped back to the present. "Alright, Mister David Mackenzie, where is this Plague Ward?"

"This way," Mackenzie said, leading them across the gymnasium. A few people noted their progress, but to most they were just another group seeking comfort. Even the Doctor's strange garb didn't turn heads, especially since he had decided to lose the raincoat. He kept the hat.

A teacher approached them. He was old, with a droopy face and a droopier moustache. He had bright eyes that darted about and his clothing was almost identical to the Doctor's minus the hat.

"David," he said with a creaky voice. "May I welcome the new ones?"

Mackenzie turned. "This is Mr. Poriff. He teaches history. And he is the one organizing everything."

"Did the same back in the Blitz," the old man grinned. "Not much of a change really."

"I like your bow tie," said the Doctor.

"And I like yours," said Poriff. "So, where are you off to?"

David looked at the Doctor. "I'm taking them to the Plague Ward."

"I wouldn't go there," said Poriff. "Those people are…sick."

"And I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor. "We're going to fix this."

Poriff's brows knit together. "I'll take them from here, David."

Mackenzie sagged with relief. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem at all," said Poriff. "Come along then."

Poriff led them into a hall. "Doctor," he said. "Doctor doctor doctor. I've heard of you."

The Doctor looked at him, surprised. "How does a little town's history teacher know about me."

"I am very old and have been a lot of places," he flashed a glance and Chris. "I live here because someone needed to watch him."

They were all shocked. This old man knew something about Chris.

"What do you know about me," Chris hissed.

"There was a project," said Poriff. "A UNIT project. Not many survived, but a few did. And those who survived needed watching, protection. But…I'm not much of a protector."

Chris felt anger rising in the back of his throat. "What do you know? What was the project? What is UNIT?"

He shot forward and grabbed the man's lapels. "What am I?"

The Doctor pulled Chris back. "He can't say."

"What," Chris said, pulling himself from the Doctor's grasp.

"He has been telepathically programmed," the Doctor fixed the old man's lapels. "He remembers but can't say. If he does try and say, it gets muddled and broken. He can't tell anyone anything of importance. But think. It was a UNIT project. U-N-I-T. United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Think. Delve into your memories. Go past the blocks, you know the word. Remember."

Chris did. UNIT was in his head, and suddenly, he remembered. A sign with a logo, a letterhead. Red berets. A million images with no context. And a pain tore through his skull. He dropped to his knees and screamed.

"What is this," he said when it was done. "Why does it hurt?"

"You have blocks as well," said the Doctor. "Only far stronger. But they're degrading. Your mind is too big for them and the more you learn, the more they shatter. Soon you will remember it all. But as they break, the memories they hold back pour in so fast your mind can't handle it and you feel pain."

The Doctor helped Chris to his feet. Poriff stepped forward.

"I am very, very sorry," he said. "I wish I could tell you more. I truly wish I could. You were so good. You were one of the best. One of the biggest successes. It's why he left you alive, why he let you escape and live a normal life after it all went to hell," he looked at the Doctor. "I'm even more sorry to you. I'm sorry for what we tried to do. It was wrong and it has spun around and bit us. This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for us and our stupidity. And _him_."

"You know who sent them, don't you," Amy strode forward. Poriff nodded.

"I wish I could tell you," he said. "Six years I've remembered and haven't been able to say a word. Even back then I was just a history teacher. This is bigger than I ever wanted it to be."

They had reached a big red door with the words "Chemical Storage" printed on a small plastic sign. Poriff touched it gingerly. "This is the Plague Ward. We have six of them in there. They're handcuffed to chairs. The police left a box of handcuffs. What are you going to do?"

"We're going to teach them what humanity means," the Doctor answered. Poriff swallowed and opened the door.

Inside was dark, but the light that poured in from the hall gave the area a bluish glow. Six figures were silhouetted by the light, seated in chairs and handcuffed behind their backs. Their heads turned.

"You. Must. Sleep," they said. Chris rolled his eyes.

"Of course we do," he said. He strode in, not in the mood for waiting, and dragged the nearest one out. Poriff shut the door and raised his gun at the figure.

"You see that," the Doctor said, nodding at the gun and smiling. "You know what those do. You know they _hurt_. Don't do anything silly, and we won't use it."

The Sleeper looked at it. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

The Doctor slid the helmet onto his head and leaned forward. "Reminding you of what life is."

The device began glowing. The Doctor smiled and shut his eyes. There was a moment of silence, and then the Sleeper began thrashing, it's eyes wide and fearful, but it's mouth locked tight. A minute went by, then a second. At the end of it, the Doctor opened his eyes and stood.

"That is what having a body is," he said. "Not pain, not suffering. It's the feeling of blood coursing through your legs when you run. It's the smell of rain on grass. It's the touch of a person you love. It's the sound of music from a distance. It's the taste of fish fingers and custard when you are on the edge of life. It's all that. All that and more. And there is pain. And suffering. But isn't a bit of pain worth what we feel? The good?"

The Sleeper locked up at him. "We were. Wrong. We made. Mistakes."

"Your tongue isn't as heavy," said the Doctor. "Go."

"Why did we do this," the Sleeper said. "Why? Why? Why? Why?"

It kept repeating the word until the Doctor stopped it. "Because minds forget things. Minds aren't perfect. They invent and create, but that is a two edged sword. They can invent devices that have the power to make a mind survive without a body, but they can also create false histories."

The Doctor leaned forward. "Your people were sick. I felt it when I was in there, half-forgotten and blurred by time. A long time ago, you lived on a beautiful world. But there was an illness, and your people could not cure it. But the scientists, the wonderful, beautiful, intelligent scientists, knew they could make a way to let at least a few survive. A few lucky people."

"I. Helped."

"You did. You helped and you made a beautiful machine. And you used it, as did the others, because by then the scientists were all that was left. But when you were just bodies, you couldn't do anything but sit and think and share thoughts. You couldn't even see, you could just sense the life around you fading and disappearing from your world. And time passed and it drove you all mad, being nothing but minds, not being able to touch or talk or smell. You couldn't hear or taste. And as the centuries passed, you forgot about your bodies. Then about what it felt like to have them. But you remembered you had had them, and you knew you must have chosen to discard them for a reason. And you remembered a bad word: pain. And so you thought that was the reason. And it became a religion. And now you are here, and there are others elsewhere, spreading your gospel. But you don't have to. You can choose to give back the bodies. They still live. And you can find a way to survive, and make new bodies, and live new lives."

"We. Can," the Sleeper stared up at the Doctor. "Please help. Us. Please teach. My brothers. And sisters. There is a. Better. Way."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Yes there is."

"I have. Stolen. This body," said the Sleeper. "And I. Must allow. It. To be. Returned."

"Yes," said the Doctor.

"Thank. You. Doctor," said the Sleeper. "Thank you."

The body convulsed, then went limp, still breathing, still blinking, but mindless. The Doctor nodded.

"It works," he said, and then strode down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Tower

Poriff led them to a back door. Chris didn't know how, but evidently some word had spread that the Doctor had a cure, that he was going to fix the sleepers, and a small crowd was waiting at the front door. The group decided en masse to avoid the crowd, and so Poriff brought them to the back. He unlocked the door and held up his gun, prepping for whatever might be on the other side.

"Well, Mister Poriff," said the Doctor, "it's been illuminating."

"What he said," said Amy. Rory shook the man's hand. Poriff strode over to Chris.

"I truly am sorry, but I can give you something," he said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a beaten leather wallet. He opened it as he spoke. "I've been saving this for…for when we finally met properly. I may not be able to tell you things, or write them down, but I can give you clues."

He handed Chris a business card. A UNIT logo dominated the upper portion. The lower half had an address.

_Dominic Falls Institute for the Advancement of Humanity, 71 Dominic Falls Road, Dominic_

Chris flipped the card. There was a name and phone number on the other side.

_Doctor Artyom Gorvic, 29 1555 2341 ext. 41_

"Cardiff," he said, sniffing. "I remember the sea…and a sign. I know this place."

"Your home when you were a child," Poriff nodded. "I wish I could say more. Maybe when this is done, you can go there, see what has become of it…and remember."

Chris nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry for my anger at you."

"Not at all," Poriff smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to test over and over until I get through." He held open the Doctor patted his shoulder as he passed, Amy and Liz each kissed a cheek and Rory shook his hand. Chris stopped and, via pure instinct, shot to attention and saluted. Poriff smiled and saluted back. Chris was confused.

"Why did I do that," he asked.

"One day, you'll remember," Poriff answered. "Now go."

Chris turned and left, and Poriff shut the door behind him.

"Poor boy," Poriff shook his head, then pulled a phone from his pocket.

Meanwhile, Chris turned and ran to catch up with the others. The radio tower was only a few blocks away, looming over them. The rain had subsided, but it had become well-and-truly night while they were inside, and the clouds blocked out both moon and stars. Even the streetlights were off. Only vague shadows gave hints of their surroundings.

"If the power is out," Rory was saying, "how is the radio tower going to work?"

"Radio stations have emergency generators, so they can broadcast emergency messages in case of an emergency," said the Doctor.

"You just said emergency three times in one sentence," Liz pointed out.

"It's a fun word," said the Doctor. "Anyways, we have bigger worries."

"What's that," Amy asked.

"It's nothing," said the Doctor.

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Doctor…"

"Well," the Doctor hummed. "You know how I went into that Sleeper's mind? When I was in there, before I had sent all the message through, he sort of got one out. A big telepathic blast to all of the other Solace in the city. All of them."

"And," said Amy.

"They know where we're going," said the Doctor. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there are quite a number waiting for us."

Rory stopped. They were on the street now. "Then what are we doing just walking in then?"

"Well, we have to go there anyways," said the Doctor. "And at this point there is no reason to be subtle. I'm just hoping that we can think of something clever when we get there?"

"When has the Doctor ever planned anything in advance," Amy said with more than a mite of exasperation.

The Doctor frowned and jogged to the opposite side of the street. The others followed, but as they came to the other side, the Doctor held a finger to his lips and pointed. From down the street, a patrol of perhaps fifteen sleepers marched along, eyes dead ahead and movements more fluid than they had been. Chris waved the others down and they all crouched. He led them to an alley just a ways back.

"We'll stick to the back ways," he said. "Let me check ahead."

"Oh no," Liz whispered. "Not again. We're not losing you again."

"I'll be in eyeshot," Chris said. "I'm just…I don't know, more agile than I was. Give me five seconds, you'll see."

He dashed forward and leapt onto a stack of moving pallets. Without slowing his momentum, he pushed of the nearby wall and grabbed the window ledge of the second storey. With some doing, he pulled himself up so that he grabbed the drain for the eaves and began climbing. The pipe took a sharp left at the third storey, and he was forced to return to a window ledge before grabbinf the eaves themselves and pulling himself onto the roof. From his new vantage, he could see all the roads between them and the radio tower. He looked down and saw the others watching. He pointed out a direction. Amy shrugged. Chris rolled his eyes and pointed again. This time, the Doctor grabbed Amy's forearm and led her in that direction, while the others followed.

Chris checked his path and leapt the gap to the next building (a gap of only five or six feet that felt like thirty). Bending his knees as he landed, he crept ahead of the group and checked again. By repeating this process several times, they managed to avoid all of the roving bands of sleepers that filled the alleys. Thankfully, the last building was a cheap business lot, and had a metal fire-escape. He climbed down the ladder and dropped to the ground with the others.

"That was remarkably dangerous," the Doctor grinned. "I love it!"

"I feel like climbing and jumping," said Chris.

"Action over thought," said the Doctor. "The new you. Okay, so, what do we have."

They crept forward and scanned the streets. What they saw beneath the tower, in front of the entrance to the radio station, was not a happy sight. Several hundred Sleepers stood at the base, unmoving save for heads that went side-to-side like some sort of scanners. Most were unarmed civilians, but scattered among them were police in riot gear.

"Well," said the Doctor, "that's discouraging."

"What do we do, Doctor," asked Liz.

Rory counted. "267. There's 267."

"We don't need you counting them out, thanks," said Amy.

"How did you count them so quickly," Chris asked.

"I was a Roman soldier," Rory said, "there are tricks to counting large groups of people so that you can know their numbers in battle."

"You people are so bizarre," Liz shook her head.

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "Alright. 267 exploding people between us and our destination. What do we have to work with?"

"Two girls, a Roman centurion, a Time Lord," Amy waved a hand at Chris, "and Chris, whatever you are."

"More," said the Doctor.

"They're afraid of pain more than anything," said Liz.

"They're slow," said Rory.

"They don't know how physical objects really work," said Chris. "All theory, no practice."

"Cars," said Amy, her eyes widening. "Lots of empty cars."

They all looked at her. "Like the garage," said Chris. "But will they fall for the same thing twice."

"If we make it big enough they might," said the Doctor.

"What do you mean," asked Liz.

Chris pointed. Not that far away, a moving van sat diagonally across two lanes.

"Part Trojan Horse, part battering ram," he explained. "We all get in the back, we start the van, send it forward and clear a path. While they're reeling, we hop out of the back and rush in."

"It's not subtle," said the Doctor, "but it will have to do."

"One problem," said Rory. "It's a little different this time. We have to steer and stop. Someone is going to have to drive, and whoever is driving…"

"Might not have the time to get out," finished the Doctor. "Yes. Whoever's driving has to be willing to take that chance."

They were silent for a moment. "Doctor," Chris finally said, "Christopher talking here. How much would it take for me to regenerate the rest of the way?"

The Doctor shrugged. "A good wallop, a big enough scrape. Any semi-major tissue damage, really."

"So, if I were to jump out of a moving vehicle…"

The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "It's probable…not one hundred percent but…"

"Fifty-fifty," Chris asked. The Doctor nodded. "So, for me, it's just as dangerous driving. Either way, I have a fifty-fifty chance of bursting into light. But you guys…you're only in danger if you drive."

Amy shook her head. "You are one of the most daft people I've ever met."

"No," said Liz, brow furrowing. "He's brilliant."

The Doctor nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Come along, then."

The five of them scooted off. Moments later, they were next to the van. The Doctor reached into his jacket's inner pocket and handed Chris the sonic screwdriver.

"This'll start the van," he said. He then took off his hat and plunked it down on Chris' scalp. "And this is for luck."

Chris nodded and clapped the Doctor's shoulder in thanks. The others all smiled grimly.

"Off you go," Chris said. "Time for me to be the thrill-seeker."

One by one, the hustled into the back. Chris crept forward and opened the driver's side door. Climbing in, he breathed deeply.

"Allons-y," he said, and started the van.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Backlash

More than two hundred eyes turned simultaneously in the direction of the engine's rumble. Chris gritted his teeth and shifted into gear as the Sleepers began their shambling way towards him.

As he shot forward, he was determined to plow through and save his town, but as he gained momentum towards the crowd, he began picking out individual faces. A girl of fifteen, spotted with acne that would clear and leave her a beautiful young woman. An elderly gentleman with an impressive beard. A priest, in cossack and collar, with an altar boy not far behind. Many, he recognized from around town. A shopkeep, a man who used the same Laundromat, one of the hoodies who hung out near the fountain. People all of them, real, flesh and blood, living people. Sure, their minds were gone, but those minds floated around somewhere, being indoctrinated by telepathic aliens. And when all of this was done and the minds were back in their bodies, did he want their blood on his hands.

Still, he had no choice. The radio tower was their only hope. The only way of stopping the Solace. He had to get through them, and the van was the only way. He saw no other options.

But he couldn't kill them, and there was always, always another way.

_Be Chris_, the Christopher part of him thought, _don't think, don't ponder. DO!_

Chris swung the steering wheel left and popped up onto the sidewalk. Further still and he was tearing through the fence that surrounded the radio tower's land. There had to be a back door. There HAD to be.

The van bounced and swung dangerously as he drove over grass and stone. There was a banging from the back, and Amy yelled forward, mostly muffled by other noise.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Saving lives," Chris yelled back. He swung his hands hard to the right, and the van drove through the fence immediately under the radio tower. The tower itself was on a raised concrete base, and sure enough, a door into the station itself was near it's base.

But there also wasn't room to slow down. Not enough, at least. Still, Chris slammed the brakes and did his best.

The van buried itself in the concrete block, ships of stone and metal flying into the air. Chris was suddenly very thankful for seatbelts and airbags, and hoped the others were okay. The jolt would have been enough to send him into regeneration, he suspected, had it not been for his restraint. Hopefully no one was grievously hurt.

Chris quickly climbed from the van and ran around to the back. He threw open the doors to find the others in a jumbled heap on the ground. They were pulling themselves up, and all looked very cross at him.

"Be angry later," he said, "we have one minute before the sleepers are on top of us."

They all sprang from the back of the van. Liz looked at him as she leapt down.

"You are an absolutely terrible driver," she said.

"Flirt later," Chris replied, words eh had never thought he would say. "Exploding people."

"Right," she said, and they bolted for the door.

"It's locked," said Rory. The Doctor reached inside his jacket and seemed surprised that the sonic screwdriver wasn't there. Chris darted forward and pressed the button on the device. Suddenly, the lock clicked open and they bustled in.

"You're a natural," said the Doctor, as he grabbed the screwdriver as he passed Chris.

"Yeah, a bit too natural," Chris mumbled. He went in just as the Doctor sealed the door.

"There," said the Doctor. "No one, not even exploding people, are getting in that door."

"Now what," asked Amy.

"We find the signal controls, wire in our mind helmet and," the Doctor flourished with a hand, "voila."

Soon enough, they found the room that linked directly to the tower. A closet-like room of boxes, wires and lights, the Doctor suddenly looked a bit flustered.

"Ah," he said.

"Ah," said Rory, "what is 'ah'? What does that mean?"

"It means, Rory," said the Doctor, "that I forgot I was dealing with early 21st century technology and that the helmet is mostly Gallifreyan. Other than some of the flickering lights. Flickering lights are cool."

"So," asked Amy. "What does that mean?"

"Think about trying to put a microprocessor into a 1950s toaster," said the Doctor. "With enough fiddling, I can make it work, but it will take awhile."

"Awhile," said Chris. "How long is a while?"

"An hour," said the Doctor. "I might be able to do it in less if I really concentrate."

"Then really concentrate," said Liz.

"You all," he said, dropping in front of the controls, "I need you to go around and check all the exits and entrances. Make sure they are sealed. Can't go having sleepers get in."

"Wait," said Liz, sniffing the air. "Do you…do you smell something?"

They stopped and sniffed. At first, Chris only smelt the pork-smell of the sleep field, but sure enough, just beneath that, was a worse scent. Gas.

"Oh," said the Doctor, "oh no. They're filling the building with gas. They're either going to knock us out, or blow us up. Doesn't matter in the end, same result."

Amy's eyes went wide. "Doctor, what do we do?"

"We hope that we don't pass out before I finish. It's not a lot of gas. It must be coming in slowly and escaping from cracks. Maybe we'll get the full hour," the Doctor shrugged.

Chris shook his head. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"Not a bit, no," said the Doctor. "But whoever listened to odds?"

"Professional gamblers," mumbled Liz. Chris stifled a chuckle.

"There must be something we can do," Amy said.

"We can open the doors, releasing the gas but letting in the sleepers," said Chris. "Or we can sit here and pass out and become sleepers. One is faster than the other…"

He furrowed his brow. Christopher was screaming at the back of his skull.

"Or," he said, "we use this against them."

"How," asked Rory. "We have nothing, no weapons, nowhere to run…"

"We have everything in the station," Chris said. "And what is radio good for but conveying a message."

"Please explain," said Amy. "You sound too much like him." She shrugged at the Doctor, who was busy trying to mount attach the helmet to the box of lights and wires.

"They're afraid of pain, right," said Chris. "And they are at least slightly a hive mind. They share thoughts while remaining individuals. And they're psychic."

The Doctor looked up. "Oh, you are clever! Brilliant, even! Use their strengths against them. Threaten them with pain."

"How will that stop them when there are so many," Liz asked.

"Psychic backlash," said the Doctor. "Threaten to kill a whole bunch of them at once. The shared pain being transmitted through the telepathic field would be too much. Two hundred deaths felt simultaneously by every single bodiless Solace. It would drive them mad. They'd break apart like so many atoms."

Rory's eyes went wide. "We couldn't do that," he said, looking about. "Killing all those people! They're still people! You couldn't even drive through the crowd."

"We don't have to actually do it," said Chris. "Just threaten to do it. Buy ourselves a bit of time."

"But what's the threat," asked Amy. "We don't have any weapons."

"But we do," said Liz with realization. "They're pumping this place full of gas. One spark and it will explode. Not to mention the propane tank powering the generator. And the truck. And the radio tower."

"All that would be left of anything for fifty yards would be rubble," said Chris.

"Which is why I'm being so careful with these wires," said the Doctor.

"How do we do it, then," asked Rory. "How do we send out the message? They don't exactly have radios."

"But we have speakers," said Chris. "For live shows and stuff, the station has speakers. We set them up at the windows and blare out the message."

"What are we waiting for," asked Amy. "Let's find those speakers."

While the Doctor worked, the others searched. The air grew thinner and more gas-filled with each moment, but soon enough they had pushed speakers up to grated windows and plugged them into the central broadcasting console. Chris settled himself into a chair near the console and pulled on some headphones.

"Turn them on," he said. Rory dashed off and a few moments later, Chris heard white noise. Beautiful, buzzing, purposeless white noise. He shook his head. The gas was getting to him. He flicked a switch, pressed a button and the white noise faded away.

Breathing deeply, Chris leaned forward, and spoke into the mic. "Hello, everyone. It's broadcast time. Listen close."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Broadcast/Counterbroadcast

"Hello," Chris started. "I'm Chris Dawkins. One of the people you are currently trying to drown with gas. I understand. Really, I do. I do understand. You think this is all right. You think that this is some divine mandate, that this is a religious experience. That you are making us better. I can get behind that.

"But I've had a very, very bad day. I woke up this morning with a kick-ass case of writer's block, met an alien, found out I wasn't entirely human. Oh, and I was shot. By one of you. All of you. Doesn't matter. It all works out to the same.

"And now, now, you're trying to drown us. Make us sleep and turn us all into you. But you see that…that doesn't matter either. In the end, the only thing that matters is this.

"You've killed people.

"You have killed everyday, ordinary people for no reason. And you liked it. What is more, you ripped out their souls and stole their bodies, like they were toys. And that, _that_, makes me angry.

"You shouldn't make me angry. Because I have a weapon.

"You see, while you've been pumping this building full of gas and gathering all around, you've been arming me. Setting up the pins and handing me the ball. Because whiel you remember that gas knocks out, you forgot something else.

"Gas explodes.

"So, here we go. An ultimatum. You back off. You give us an hour, two hours. Let us open the window and air this place out…because otherwise, OTH-ER-WISE, we light a match.

"How do you think that will feel? Almost 300 simultaneous deaths, the incineration of flesh and hair and bone. Felt by all of you simultaneously. How will that feel? What will that do to your precious minds? Will you go mad? Will you fall apart, scattered to the winds like so many atoms? Who cares? Because all I know is that getting burned hurts. And what one of you feels, you all feel.

"So, back off. One hour to air out the building, destroy our weapon.

"Good evening, and good luck."

Chris flicked off the mic. He leaned back and waited, breathing the breaths that might be his last. Suddenly, Rory burst into the booth.

"They're moving," he said. "They're moving back."

Chris smiled. "Crack the windows. I feel the need for a draft."

Amy and Liz arrived over Rory's shoulders and smiled.

"Will do, fearless leader," smiled Amy, and she and Rory darted off. Liz lingered.

"You sound a bit like the Doctor, even now," Liz said.

"There's a bit of Time Lord in me, methinks," said Chris. "Maybe they're all like him."

"They're not all like me," the Doctor appeared. "They were never like me. Chris, I need your help."

Chris stood and followed the Doctor. As he passed Liz, she placed a hand on his upper arm momentarily. He smiled, and she left to open windows.

Chris followed the Doctor to the panel room. The Doctor kneeled and began working.

"You feel it too," he said as he worked.

"They're thinking," said Chris. "A great mass of minds, all churning out thoughts at the same time. Telepathically communicating. Like a big swarm of bees, buzzing away."

"They're plotting," said the Doctor. "Now, you're about to feel a pain in your skull. A big one. I recommend you sit down now, or you might fall over and hit your head and regenerate."

"Why," asked Chris.

"Incoming message," the Doctor said. "The counterbroadcast."

Sure enough, a spike of pain shot through Chris' head. Evidentally, it hit the Doctor simultaneously. They both shook violently. Chris gripped his head in his hands and felt like vomiting. The pain rain behind his eyes, up his neck. His whole head felt of throbbing, pushing. Then the pain stopped, and a message appeared, fully-formed, like the first. The bald, alien-priest in the cossack, speaking away at them.

_You fools_, it said. _You blundering heathens. Somehow, you have survived this long off threats and luck. What is one hour against a thousand thousand years? You ask for an hour in your sinful forms. Your sins will be forgiven and cleansed away. In one hour, you will learn how wrong you are. We will let you enter into Solace and you will look back on your physical forms and weep about the pain you once felt the freedom you now have. For we have a weapon too. The greatest weapon of all._

_We have time._

_Do you feel it. Do you feel the exhaustion yet? Your climbing and running and all the strain you've put your bodies through. Do you feel your eyelids growing heavy? Minds never tire, they always work, but bodies wither and decay and die. Soon enough you will feel the effects of your too-long journey. You can hole up in your rooms of stone and wood and metal for as long as you like. In the end, we will have you._

_So fight for each waking moment, have your final sins. Solace is your salvation._

Chris opened his eyes. "They don't know. They gather outside and they don't know. About the helmet. About our plans."

"I'm not so sure," said the Doctor.

"Are you always such a downer," Chris asked. "They don't know. We have our time."

The Doctor frowned. "Then why did they bring guns?"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Final Ascent

The hour ticked by with a grinding slowness that only the Doctor, in the depths of his work, seemed unaware of. Chris suddenly became acutely aware of what the Solace meant. While they were running around, danger pressing in, he hadn't realized how tired he had become. How much his body hurt and sagged, how much his eyes felt like locking shut.

"Not even for a moment," he told himself. "Not even for a second."

They did whatever they could to stay awake. Water across the face. Ice from the staff freezer in the cheeks. Rory actually managed to brew a decent cup of coffee from the awful staff coffee maker. Chris had managed to find a notebook and a pen and began writing. Nothing concrete, just single-lines or couplets, but writing kept him awake.

Amy's head kept dipping, and Rory kept shaking her up. Liz had taken to dashing from room to room, just to keep her blood moving. Chris finally stood up and went over to the Doctor.

"Any headway," Chris said.

"Actually, yes," said the Doctor. "Lot's of headway. Lots of information. That's good, of course, information. Lots of that…"

"Doctor," Chris said. "That isn't a good tone in your voice."

"Um, yes," said the Doctor. "I've managed to hook it up. Technically, it would work."

"But…"

"We're not getting enough of a signal from the box here," the Doctor answered.

"And that means," Chris said.

"Well, it would take us two seconds to link it up somewhere else and boost the signal," said the Doctor. "But there is a very…specific…somewhere else."

"Doctor," Chris said. "Doctor, where is this somewhere specific?"

"Well," the Doctor said. "the control box on top of the tower would work."

Chris looked at the Doctor. "What?"

"Well, I've made the connection cable, see," the Doctor held up the cable. "Linking the Gallifreyan stuff here with the human stuff there. But there's some sort of fault in the box down here. Interference between here and the tower. Too be expected, trying to send a telepathic message through radio lines. But there is a twin box on top of the tower, with no intermediate steps. If we can get up there…"

"We can send the message," Chris finished.

"But it's a long climb, and we're all tired," said the Doctor. "Only one of us should go. Too dangerous to risk all of us."

Chris smiled. "You know what I'm going to say."

"No, not again," said the Doctor. "Do you really need to risk your own neck?"

"Constantly," said Chris. "Besides…I'm the best climber."

The Doctor looked at Chris. Chris looked at the Doctor. The Doctor slowly smiled. "I like you, Chris Dawkins. Always knew I would. Your books told me so."

"Always knew," Chris cocked an eyebrow.

"Planned on visiting you at some point," the Doctor grinned. "Although after you wrote the Questions of W."

"But I have written it," Chris said. "It's never going to get published. It's rubbish."

"Oh no," said the Doctor. "It's brilliant. Absolutely incredible. Here." He began coiling the cable and handed Chris the helmet. "The box will be near the top. Plug in that end, flick the switch, pop on the helmet. And think. Think of every happy memory you have. Everything good you can remember. That's all you need to do. Think, and think hard."

Chris nodded. "I'll see you soon, Doctor."

"See you soon, Christopher Dawkins," the Doctor grinned.

And Chris dashed off before the others had a chance to notice. To the back door. Out the back door. Across the platform. To the base of the tower.

Chris looked around. The Sleepers hovered around, about forty yards away. They looked at him. He looked at them. One raised a rifle. Chris _climbed_.

The gunshots buzzed off the metal around him. He wondered what Amy, Rory and Liz were thinking about now, realizing that, yet again, Chris had decided to toss his life away.

"Half a regeneration turned me into an idiot," he whispered, "can't wait to see a full one."

He ignored the pings of metal on metal, and focused on one hand over the next, the able around his shoulder and the helmet he had placed firmly on his head. Hand over hand. Foot by foot. Suddenly, the tower shook. He looked down. Fifty feet below, there was a blast crater. One of the Sleepers had detonated. Three more were already glowing.

"Oh," Chris said. "Oh no."

The tower shook again. And then again. Chris held on for dear life. Suddenly, he heard a buzz. He chanced another glance down. The metal of one of the legs of the tower was weakened and twisted. He felt like the whole thing might start to tip. But down below, someone was setting up a speaker at the door. And then…

There was a blast of screeching feedback so loud, even Chris' ears stung. The Sleepers, so much closer, fell to their knees and covered their ears, such pain new and unusual to them. Chris took his chance and continued upwards.

There was a small platform near the top of the tower, where it rose into a lightning rod. The platform was no wider than a foot, and Chris had to cling to the side as he shimmied around to the power box. More than a hundred feet up, his stomach felt like it was in his chest. But Chris had never felt more alive than with the slight swing and bend of the tower in the wind. He could see all of Suridge: the church, city hall, the bridges near the river. He smiled and soaked in the night, soaked in the thrill and the adventure and the wobbles that suggested his death. He breathed deeply and opened the box.

Carefully, he plugged in the cable. There was a switch on the board. He flicked it with a finger, and the matching one on the helmet.

And then he thought.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: What Chris Thought

The sound of saxophones.

The smell of fresh bread.

The taste of toothpaste.

A breeze through a window.

Fresh laundry, both smell and feel.

The smell of peach schnapps.

First kiss.

First fuck.

Hot croissants drowned in butter and jam.

Rainbow colours of gas on water.

Warm blanket.

Cold pillow.

Smell of aftershave.

A cup of tea.

The sound of computer keys.

Piano music.

Smell of dust after rain.

Feeling of another person in bed.

Freshly sanded wood.

Smell of pine.

Sound of waves.

Fresh pizza.

Bacon.

Smell of salt water.

White noise on a radio.

Hot sand on feet.

That feeling in a high place when you want to jump.

Ticking of a clock.

Smell of an old book.

Feel of a new deck of cards.

Sound of an engine.

Smell of wheat.

Cheap wine.

Cigarettes.

Shampoo.

Feel of washing dishes by hand.

Smell of incense.

Feeling of fire.

The sound of drums.

Colour of old newspaper.

Sunlight on a cold day.

Clear water glistening.

Frog croaks.

Wool sweaters.

Head after a haircut.

Grapes.

New CD.

Old vinyl.

Good pair of shoes.

Checkered patterns.

Feeling of a girl's skin under fingertips.

Goosepimples from cold in a warm room.

Cat purring.

Orange juice with ginger ale.

Hard pavement under feet.

Sore muscles.

This.

And he opened his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Conclusions

At first, Chris could sense no difference. Just a slight…offness. And then he realized what it was.

It was silent. Perfectly, unbelievably, wonderfully quiet. No explosions. No distant gunshots. Even the sound of feedback was gone. Chris breathed deeply and began climbing down, to whatever might come.

It was harder going down. Going up he didn't have to worry about the height. Now, he knew exactly how high he was with every step. He couldn't quite make out what had happened below until he was halfway down.

The sleepers were…sleeping. Lying on the ground, unmoving. At the last ten feet, he dropped down and landed in a roll. He saw Rory moving the speaker, and the others rejoined him, each looking rather cross, aside from the Doctor, who looked bemused.

"So," Chris said, "is it done?"

The Doctor looked around. "I think so. The sleepers are sleeping. And, if I'm any judge of these things, and I usually am, they'll wake up soon enough, human as ever and back in their own bodies."

They sat silent. Rory coughed. And nothing happened.

"Um," said Amy. "They're not waking up."

"There must be something else…" Chris started, but then felt the pain in his head. He clenched his teeth and cast a glance at the Doctor, who looked to be in similar pain. But this time it was different. Rather than subsiding, it pressed on, although it became either less painful or easier to ignore. And rather than a message appearing, something else happened.

Before their very eyes, the air began to glow, individual oxygen molecules becoming green and bright star-specks. The more they glowed, the more they seemed to form a gravity and pull together.

"Telepathic molecular concentration based on resonance fields," the Doctor whispered.

"What does that mean," Amy whispered back. Liz, ever the physicist, answered before the Doctor.

"They're building a body," she said.

"They're going to talk to us," said Chris.

The creature that pulled together before them was bizarre. Obviously, not all aliens were humanoid. The green-glow creature seemed to be a mass of quivering needles of various lengths and thicknesses. In the cracks beneath, Chris could make out coiled flesh, suggesting the quills could be sent out to manipulate their surroundings. The creature hovered before them, completely built in less than a minute. The Doctor stepped forward.

"I assume you are the Solace?"

"We are the followers of the Solace," the noise emanated from the quills, which quivered to form speech. "We are sorry. We cannot maintain this form long. We wished to thank you. Properly. You have reminded us…we remember. Everything."

"What were you," asked Chris. "Before. What were you?"

"What you see before you. But we had forgotten. We were from Galakalis Prime, far away and long ago. But there was a sickness. A plague spread among our people. But the doctors knew how to save themselves and removed our minds."

"A natural telepathic field helped," said the Doctor.

"Yes," the creature answered. "It helped. For many centuries, we lingered, hovering in our world's atmosphere, in the darkness. We forgot. We forgot so much. We are sorry for forgetting."

"How did you get the spaceships," the Doctor asked.

"The Solace gave them to us," they said. "He is the one who showed us the way. Taught us that our minds are holy. But he was wrong. We are sorry. Oh so sorry."

"Wait," the Doctor's eyes went wide. "The Solace is a _person_."

"He is a body, yes," the creature answered. "He promised to help us until he was the last one, and then he would give himself. And we agreed."

"You were manipulated," said Chris.

"We forgot."

"Oh," the Doctor shook his head. "Oh. And the sleepers?"

"Will awake."

"And you," Liz asked. "What will happen to you now?"

"Soon, this form will break apart and we will be minds again. But then…"

"Then you are going to disinform and break apart. Release your minds and die." The Doctor strode forward, his face set.

"We forgot once," said the creature. "We will forget again. Forever is a long time. It is better that we die. That we let ourselves peace. True solace."

"There is another way," said the Doctor. "You don't have to die."

"You know better, Doctor," the creature spoke softly. "We read much of you. We know much of you. And you are lying."

"You can't just…die," Amy said.

"We already are," said the creature. "Look. We cannot hold this form. Only for a few more moments."

Sure enough, individual particles were breaking apart, breaking away, floating off and disappearing.

"Individuals choosing to end their immortality," the creature said. "Soon we all will."

Chris stepped forward. "I'm sorry it came to this."

"We are not," said the creature. "But we are sorry for you. We saw all you thought, and much more. We saw your memories. We're sorry. So sorry. The Solace is cruel. We are so sorry. He remembers you so well."

"Wait," said Chris. "I know him? The Solace?"

"He is like you," the creature said. "He will want to see you. But we are done. Our time has come. We've met our make and our mark. Now is our time, You will want to watch. We remember beauty now. This will be beautiful."

And it was. The creature shook slowly, thrummed. It's shape became fuzzy, slowly collapsing into a ball of green, which glowed brighter and brighter, like the sleepers once had before exploding. Soon, it was a small sun, hovering before them. And then it blew apart in a spray of a thousand colours. There was no heat or shockwave, just light that seemed to go on forever. And then it faded, leaving spots in their eyes. They all blinked it away. The pain was gone in Chris' head. Completely gone.

"Are they…" Amy began.

The Doctor nodded. "Gone. Gone forever. Their species extinct. Another species I destroyed."

"No," Chris shook his head. "I did."

They stood silent. Suddenly a voice broke the silence.

"Um, hello," a woman's voice. "Where am I?"

The Doctor spun on his heels. A woman was beginning to sit up, rubbing her head. The Doctor shot forward and helped her to her feet. With a grin on his face, he threw his arms around her and answered.

"Home," he said. "You are home! Yes! Yes!"

He danced back. One by one, others sat up. They looked about groggily. Togetehr, the group helped up as many as they could.

They later learned that no one remembered. Not a thing. The destruction would never be explained, only the spaceships as evidence, and even that carted off by military vehicles in moments. With the sleep-field gone, all Chris wanted to do was sleep. They soon enough found themselves back in Chris' back garden.

"So," Chris said. "I assume it goes without saying…"

The Doctor nodded. "I can't go letting you run around by yourself. It would be criminal, wouldn't it?"

Chris smiled. "So, I become your faithful companion?"

"You both do," the Doctor grinned, looking at Liz. "If you want to, Liz the Physicist."

She looked contemplative. Then she smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Just one question," Chris said. "Is there an extra bed in there? I'm fucking exhausted."

The Doctor smiled. "Alright then, come on in. We'll have you tucked in in a tick. Ooh, that was a fun sentence. Come on then."

And so they were all in the TARDIS a moment later.

And so they all heard the message.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: I am the Solace

The Doctor dashed up to the console as the others collapsed into whatever seats they could find. Flicking switches, pressing buttons and turning knobs, he spoke.

"So, where to first," he said. "Oh, I have a good one. The Great Celebration! Ah, you're all going to love it. A world built and dedicated to one party that lasts a hundred years, and then it just collapses. Beautiful…or Christmas in medieval France, that's always a good one."

"Doctor," Chris answered, striding forward. "I have a place."

He handed the Doctor the card Poriff had given him. The Doctor read it, and looked at Chris seriously.

"You want to go here," he said. "Are you sure?"

Chris nodded. "I need to know. I want to go there before…before I was born. I need to see what it was. I need to know what I am."

"Oh, don't worry," a voice spoke. "I can tell you all about it."

Liz, Amy and Rory shot to their feet, while the Doctor and Chris spun in unison. Standing next to the door of the TARDIS was a man: bald, tall and familiar.

The priest from the telepathic visions. Except he wasn't dressed in a cossack, but in an all black business suit, his tie loosened and top button undone. He grinned wickedly.

"How did you get on this ship," the Doctor stepped forward.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor," the man laughed. "We meet at last. I was very impressed with how you handled the bodiless. Telepathically convincing them that flesh was right. I was expecting you to disassociate their minds with a blast of energy from the TARDIS mainframe. But to each their own, and their light show was pretty."

"You haven't answered my question," the Doctor growled.

"Oh, yes," the man's eyes went wide, as if he was just realizing. "I'm not on your ship. This is a hologram. I've taken control of your voice control software for the time being. Wanted to have a chat."

"You've taken control of the TARDIS," the Doctor said. "That's impossible."

"Not for me," the man took a step forward. "Hello Chris. It's been a long time."

"Have we met," Chris said.

"Oh, yeah, the face," the man said. "This isn't even my real one. Just needed it for recognition purposes. One tick…"

The man leaned over and seemed to tap something out on an invisible console. Suddenly, his face shifted. He was a lean man, with high cheekbones and a dusting of stubble across his cheeks. His hair was cut short, but was so black it seemed to dominate his head anyways.

"I still don't know you," said Chris.

"Of course you don't," the man grinned. "I've regenerated a half dozen times since we last met."

"Who are you," Chris said. He had a terrible thought for a moment, that this man was some future version of himself. But a person couldn't cross their own timestream into established events, Chris thought. And then he wondered how he knew that.

"I'm the Solace," the man laughed. "Although, that is hardly the name you knew me as, when we were children. Back then, I was James. Remember me."

Chris gasped. "My god. James! What the hell are you doing! How…how?"

"Oh, shut up for a minute and I'll explain," James said. "You see, you and me, we are the last two surviving products of a UNIT project dedicated to building a weapon."

"A weapon," the Doctor asked. "What kind of weapon?"

"Why, a Time Lord of course," James laughed. "I'd think that was obvious. You see, after all they had seen you do, all the problems you have solved both for them and without them, they realized that you, Doctor, were the greatest way to protect the universe. And so they decided to make more. And…voila! I was born."

Chris swallowed. "And me."

"Oh, to a lesser degree," the Solace shrugged. "But yes. However, they realized something near the end, and the project was shut down, it's ashes scattered. Most of the children were memory-wiped and given into normal lives. But I was too clever and I escaped. And I brought them down with me…oh, and now we hit the fun part."

"And what is that," the Doctor frowned.

"You see, I realized something a long time back," the Solace closed his eyes wistfully. "There can only be one Doctor. Only one. But there were so many possible Doctors, spread across Earth. So I hunted them down and killed them. I did it too quickly, and it wasn't until I was down to Christopher that I realized what a waste it had been. Where is the fun in just putting a bullet in a brain here or incinerating someone there. No fun at all. So I devised a game for Chris. To give him a chance. He always was a my best friend."

"You're insane," Liz said.

"Oh shut up, Liz," the Solace said. "You're as much a part of this as anyone. Can anyone guess how I watched you all the whole time?"

"Oh," Amy said. "Oh Liz."

"Ding ding ding," the Solace grinned. "We have a winner! But don't feel guilty, she didn't even know she was doing it. That's the beauty of programmable humans. They don't even have to know they're helping."

"P-programable…" Liz started.

"A cloned body with organic-machine elements and heavy programming," the Solace said. "Not the least of which is that you have to obey my every order. Like…sit."

Liz suddenly collapsed into a seat on the ground, looking shocked.

"Or roll over…"

Liz rolled over, starting to cry.

"Or…come…"

Suddenly, Liz's skin began glowing. Chris shot forward, but the Doctor grabbed him.

"Long range, unprotected travel through the vortex," the Doctor said. "It'll rip a hole. Can't have anyone tumbling through."

Liz looked up. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't even know," Chris said.

Liz screamed, and then was gone. A moment later, the Solace reached somewhere to his side and pulled over Liz, now on his end of the line.

"Impressive, isn't it," he said. "My own design. But we haven't even gotten to the good stuff…"

"Shut your fucking mouth," Chris screamed. "You're not James! You couldn't be him!"

"Oh stop your sniveling," the Solace said. "I gave up being James when I decided to be the Doctor. Even the name Solace is just an element of that. In the Navubin tongue, Doctors are called Solace for the peace they bring. Anyways, this next bit is very important."

The Doctor placed a hand on Chris' shoulder and spoke. "What is it?"

"Well, in order for me to take over your spot as Doctor, you both need to die," the Solace said. "But, I'm fond of games, and games have to be fair. So here's the thing. I am going to cause little disasters like this one across time and space. I'll find ways to get you there, too. You have to solve them. Over the course of these disasters, I will chime the Cloister Bell at random intervals…"

"How," the Doctor said. "It's still impossible to wrest control of the TARDIS."

"Oh, shut up for a moment," the Solace said. "I lost my place. Ah, yes. The bell will chime a total of seven times. If you can find me before the seventh chime, I will let you do whatever you want to me. I will not fight. You can kill me, or throw me in prison or bind me in unbreakable chains and throw me into the sun, if you so wish. But if that bell should ring it's seventh time…I will blow up the TARDIS with you all inside it."

"You're mad," the Doctor said.

"Oh, very much so," the Solace said. "But isn't this going to be fun. Oh, and one more thing. Chris. Liz only cared a whit about you because she was programmed to keep you alive for this test. Tootles."

And the hologram disappeared


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue

"The year 5239, right on the edge of the Milky Way," the Doctor said. "No ships will pass through this area of space for two thousand years. Quiet. Now then…"

"Doctor, I want you to be quiet and listen," Chris said. "Amy and Rory, that goes for you too. I am not sad, I am not despaired. I. Am. Pissed. James was always a little…intense, back when we were kids, but never evil. Something else has happened to him. If that was him. I should have seen it coming. The whole thing was a game he would play. And the ships, the dropships, they were based on drawings he used to make. I should have seen it. But we can find him, and we can stop him and I want no sympathy until we do that."

The Doctor nodded. "Fair enough. I understand, you know. I had a friend once…well, it turned out very similar. Anyways, you're right. We will hunt him down and we will stop him. How hard can it be. He's only one Doctor. We're two."

Chris smiled grimly. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Anywhere," said the Doctor. "Anywhen. I'm sure that no matter where we go, trouble will find us."

"Nothing new there," said Amy.

Suddenly, there was a ringing. From deep inside the TARDIS, there was a ringing. A great, belting chime.

"Oh god," the Doctor said. "He can really do it! The Cloister Bell rings the first time."

"For what," Rory asked. The bells stopped.

And a monitor beeped. The Doctor dashed over and looked at the screen.

"Well, that's odd," he said.

"What is it," asked Amy. "Doctor, what is it?"

"There's a ship. Above us. A big ship. A big, impossible ship."

And there was. A ship the size of a planet, floating through space.

Destined to die.

THE DOCTOR AND CHRIS DAWKINS WILL RETURN IN "FIRES OF THE DEIMOS"…


End file.
